


Maybe I Belong In The Stars

by Muonna



Series: Maybe I Belong In The Stars [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M, Multiple chapters, Romance, long read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9990950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muonna/pseuds/Muonna
Summary: A saga spread across all three games, in multiple chapters, detailing the rise and fall, then rise again, of Sara Shepard- Alliance hero, marksman, woman out of sorts and eventual lover of Garrus Vakarian. How did she develop into the person she is? Who was important to her in her life? What effect did the constant threat of four years of constant service have on her, and who did she turn to in her times of need?It all began on Earth, some ten years ago, when Sara Shepard was a name spoken only by those who knew her. Thats how her legend began.A story of multiple chapters charting the course of Shepard's tale and how her relationships develop across all three games.A long read.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am replaying the Mass Effect trilogy before Andromeda comes out - sharpening up on lore and so on and I'm reading all of the books which have given me a newfound love of Anderson as a father figure for Shepard. So I wanted to write a fic that explores that, as well as explores the multiple relationships that define who Shepard is and the woman she became because she always struck me as someone incredibly loyal to her friends - and this is explored in the games, but never in the same depth. Some characters (Anderson etc) I feel she would have had much more an attachment to than she ended up having. Also I still love Garrus and I wanted to write about their falling in love, and the inevitable tragedy of ME3.  
> This is a long read- currently, unedited it stands at about 55k. So its a bit of a slow burn.  
> This was just a prologue chapter, really.  
> Edit: 3/2/2017: I'm just reformatting the whole story because for some reason, uploading chapters changed the way it was format. Apologies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief prologue exploring the beginnings of Sara's story and her fledgling relationship with Anderson.

Growing up Sara Shepard had experienced very little of intergalactic society - after all she was in common space parlance, an Earther. Born and bred. And all the rarer for her pale skin: both her parents were white, which was rare with the multicultural and multispecies inclinations of the rest of the galaxy. Although she had seen aliens in the small section of society she called home, it was always fleeting and never long enough for her to engage. She was much more likely to see aliens on news vids, or in textbooks, and for her space travel had always been a distant dream. Her parents both were older humans, though they looked barely fifty by the time Sara had reached eighteen -and thus was old enough to go out and buy her own booze- they were in fact, nearer to eighty. Modern gene therapies and healthcare had extended the human lifespan to almost double its natural capacity; and so her parents remembered, as though it were yesterday, the first contact war and whilst that was true of many humans, Shepard had no memories of it; she had been a child. Unfortunately for her parents it had added, along with a nasty streak of racism against humans that had persisted despite everything, another virulent streak of racism against aliens too.  


Sara shared her father's dark wavy hair, and her mothers' dark eyes and both of their enthusiasm for hooch and cigarettes but none of their views: in school the stories about intergalactic travel, different cultures, histories and civilisations had filled her with nothing but curiosity. She'd often stolen herself away to the school library to read textbooks and encyclopedias and entire dictionaries so she could mouth Asari and Hanar words: she found the languages beautiful just as she found French and German beautiful. She'd pawed through photographs and vids of the architecture, art, history, flashy presenters talking about a world so much bigger than just her small, Earther perspective. Sometimes the librarian nudged her in the direction of new books, eyes filled with pity, perhaps, or just happiness that one so young was so enthused. 

Despite everything she grew up in the poorer areas of the new earth colonies and so as she reached adulthood, she had already gotten used to running with the local criminal gangs. She'd stuck with the Reds, comprised mostly of schoolfriends and older drop-outs. For a while, she called them her friends though none of them acted as such. They engaged, mostly, in petty crimes: graffiti, petty theft, shakedowns, the occasional drug deal. The haze of her young adulthood was filled with cheap red sand, alcohol, and a desire for something more, to be something more. She watched the news vids every morning and picked up military pamphlets, tucked them into her pockets and read them before she went to sleep every night and dreamed of starlight through the window of a freighter. But she kept on running with her crew. It was all she knew. Whenever she brought up the Alliance she was met with jeers and laughter at best, ire and anger at worst – calls of “human traitors” and spitting on the pavement- so she kept her dreams to herself. Of course, not everyone on earth was as these gangs and insular communities but in this small bubble of slum and technology, the groups persisted; just her luck she had grown up surrounded by such people. More drugs, petty theft and drunken misdemeanors followed. She earned herself a few strikes here and there and a split in her lip that crafted her mouth into a permanent sneer along the way.

The day after she hit twenty and after a particularly awful hangover an Alliance recruitment outfit had hit up her local library and she decided to seize the opportunity. She wanted more. She wanted out. She wanted purpose. And the Alliance sold a form of colonial romanticism that she had been yearning for for as long as she could remember. Shepard wanted to train and to make something of her life, filled with a passion she had been nurturing since she was a child that had finally sparked and flickered, a flame in her chest bright enough to burn away the doubts. Even if, these days she would admit with the smile of a wisened soldier, that she bought whole-heartedly into the propaganda. Did she regret, though? Not at all. 

She snuck out that day, in that dull orange smear of morning -orange and pink and white like an impressionist painting- in a hoodie and jeans, looking very much the silly young thing she was. Her skin goosepimpled from more than just the brisk temperature as she closed the door softly and wished goodbye to the family bulldog. Along the way she encountered none of her fellow gang-members which suited her just fine. Nothing more than a green duffel bag full of clothes, books and her papers slung over her shoulder. Sara walked briskly and always with an eye behind her. She wanted nothing of her past life, only to look forward: she signed up without a hesitation. They told her to tie her hair up, or get it shaved off. So she twisted her wavy mahogany hair into an elaborate bun, tight and firm as she stepped up onto the transportation vessel. And she didn't look back, swore she wouldn't take her hair down until she had what she wanted; a career with the military, helping to tame the cosmos. 

Three years later, after a grueling military training scheme of which she was one of the older recruits she had passed training, found to have innate biotic potential and skill with marksmanship. She'd spent a lot of time down at the range honing her skills. So much so that she rarely spoke to the other recruits and she developed a reputation for letting absolutely nothing distract her from what she wanted. She'd always said there would be time for fun once she'd been inducted into the military officially. In her mind, though, she'd had enough fun in the run-up to her sign-on and the idea of bunking off when she'd finally found a rigid regiment that suited her was less than ideal. Sara just chewed gum (as she was trying to kick her nicotine habit), listened to loud music, trained and fought hard and went home every night to watch Elcor action vids.

In lieu of any parental support [not even an email over her three year stint], she had caught the eye of David Anderson and over the time of her training he had become more than a mentor, he had become a friend, a father and drinking buddy. It was he who attended her graduation, who shook her hand, who slapped her shoulder and bought her her first drink as a marine. He'd believed in her, put his faith in her. Later on, she would learn, he had seen something of himself in her: all alone in space, with a family that didn't care, and potential that was untapped. Thus, he had known just where to prod and push, where to leave her be, and when to advise her. Sara was forever thankful.

Over the years as they got closer, he regaled her with stories of his escapades – collapsing caverns after bomb-blasts, encounters with Spectres and Krogan battlemasters, smuggling and so on- and taught her all he knew. About guns, tactics, defence, where to punch a man aside from the crotch. And where not to drink the booze, of course. Not only that but he talked to her about intergalatic relations, races, and alien cultures from the perspective of one who had experienced it through similar eyes. Sara couldn't wait to get out. 

What's more, he knew of her past, and unlike some of his superiors who sniffed and paid her no heed, he did not judge and in fact all he would say was-;  
“it doesn't matter where you came from, its where you go that matters.” She'd taken that to heart. And decided she was going to do him every justice, and become someone great. Her past did not define her, and though she still had the sneer, she'd developed into a compassionate young woman. She became known as a tough soldier when you crossed her, but as someone who went lenient on some, took gambles, pushed towards recruitment those who would elsewise be looked over. 

It was Anderson, she later discovered, who had recommended her for N7 right before her third deployment with the Alliance. Against every regulation in the book, he had pulled her into a tight hug and told her well done, and truly he had meant it. He'd had many failed relationships, and never sired a child; her own father had never really supported her. Sara was his daughter, far as he saw it, no lesser because they were of different blood. She wouldn't have disagreed. Neither of them could have known the hell awaiting her on Akuze.

It was only eighteen hours. But it was her first proper combat tour as leader. The previous ones had been petty: infiltrating bandits and slavers, shutting down the source; minor guard duty on spacer colonies; peace envoys to Turian embassies and so on. Akuze was to be a final test of her suitability for N7; she was to go down and investigate the recent disappearances of survey teams groundside, eliminate any slavers – as was the presumed cause – and bring back any who she could. She had a whole squadron with her, and a forward camp had already been set up in anticipation of the mines, survey stations and so on that would be established once the surveyors were recovered. Anderson had sent her off with a good-luck and a pat on the back. She had tipped her visor up and grinned, in that way she always grinned back then: sure of herself, and proud. He had saluted her, and she him. and then, she dropped down to the surface, with her team. 

They lost contact fairly quickly, for the sandstorms and a highly magnetized atmosphere all but frayed the radio, comm links and any chance for back-up. Shepard came down to the forward camp with her small five-man team and found all but three of the marines stationed there were dead and even they three were soon to pass judging from their injuries. Massive internal bleeding, much more than a field dressing could ever have hoped to staunch. There was no blood, just crushed bones and many, many fractures. Looking back, Sara always said she thought there should be more blood when there was so much death. Too quiet, too clean.

Sara had handled herself well. She had survived the eighteen hours till comms were reestablished, staying up on the rocks in the heat that didn't end, for the days on Akuze were longer than the nights and the air was thick with sulphur and dust. She had dragged a few bodies with her for evaluation by scientists, and knew the great beast that attacked them to be a Maw. She'd seen the vids but it could never have prepared her. She'd thought it would be loud, that the ground would shake and rumble and feel like a quake but it was not to be; instead it burst out of the ground out of nowhere, ten foot tall and gurgling like some dying fish. Before she could react, it had spat acid on her and Toombs, grazing her shoulder but hitting him full in the face. And then, it had thrust upon her several large boulders that had wrecked her shields before she had a chance to so much as react and crushed her ribs and left arm. In her head it registered as a compound fracture, and she had kept her arm up and against her chest, careful not to further irritate the bone that now broke through her flesh.

It had taken a lot of mental fortitude but she had thrown a huge wave of biotic energy at the Thresher with her remaining good arm, enough to stun it so that she could roll up and hobble onto the rocks and away from the full throttle of its attack. It still spat at her, and she watched as it slowly gathered up the bodies of her compatriots and pulled them underground with the clean efficiency of an apex predator. She shot at it, weakening it every time it came back for more from afar, with her standard Hahne Kedar sniper rifle. Not enough to kill it but enough to keep it away. Still, it got in more than a few glancing blows, and by the time support picked her up she was almost delirious from infection that spread quickly from its saliva, despite the toxic seals of her armour. 

She slept a full seventy two hours after the ordeal and awoke to Anderson sat beside her, face first in his omni-tool, snoring gently next to a cup of cold coffee, and a plate of uneaten military standard rations. In all honesty, Sara was not sure if she would have eaten the rations either; they were a disgusting, nutritional paste. Sara had leaned over, felt her shoulder scrape and burn (but medi-gel could do wonders) and shoved him. She'd even managed a smile. When he awoke, he had looked close to tears.  
“We weren't sure you'd make it Sara” he said, softly. One of the few times he had ever used her first name. “The Thresher had some sort of virus in its venom, it was running havok through your organs.” He didn't speak any more, just pulled her into a gentle hug and then went to get the nurse, who came and changed her dressings again, the pads coming away an alarming green colour, and handed her her personal PDA and a small cup of water. She sipped as she read through a whole three days missed communications.

She'd been fast-tracked to N7 graduation for her actions on Akuze; she later learned the colony was reestablished, and the Maw died after spending days bleeding out. None ever returned. A freak incident, the Alliance decided. That didn't change the fact that every night for a good six months after the fact, she had nightmares of acid-blasts and silent, giant insects bursting forth from her chest and the eyes of her squad, watching her, watching her, watching her. She accepted therapy, but turned down the sleeping pills, her past with red sand and borderline alcoholism fresh in her memories, and endured many a sleepless night. 

Afterwards, Sara was different. She had been quiet before but now she was stoic as well as quiet. Every night she trained at the firing range, with a custom Hahne Kadar Sniper rifle she had tinkered with, recalibrated, and added to time and time again till it was just right for her. Light weight for easy maneuverability; small clip size, but powerful bullets that could tear through multiple targets and a sensitive grip to compensate for her stiff fingers. That, and her endless practicing ensured she had a ninety-four percent headshot rate, one of the highest of the graduates to N7. She still went for those drinks with Anderson during the brief shore-leave she got when she wasn't in deployment but she spoke less, listened more and she still laughed but it was a laughter heavy with subtext and sadness.

Of course, she still cared about people but she got less attached to her teams and kept it to herself – losing her entire team had haunted her ever since and, in her eyes, she couldn't afford that care again. There was less banter, fewer jokes or casual drinks at the bar and she guarded her thoughts, and her heart, a lot more persistently than she had ever done so before. Her reputation changed: she was known as distant, kind, but not one for laughter. And, she was never seen without her bun. 

She had never told anyone, but the nightmares persisted. 

Sometimes, by the way he looked at her, and the way she knew he'd seen just as much carnage as she, she thought Anderson was suspicious of her, or knew. But it was an unspoken understanding: a kindness in the eyes that they shared, and did not speak. A soldier's accord not to bring up the pain. 

Over the years, she warmed up again. Wore pale pink lipsticks, let little strands of hair wisp away from her bun and joked with the pilots of her various vessels more, drank with the crewmates again, but still maintained a stiff, Alliance-certified distance. Kindness came to her like breathing, but she was wary. Not for their sakes but for hers. 

And so she progressed over the next few years, joining and leaving crews as easily as she could, never lingering anywhere too long, never getting too attached. Her high ranking allowed her to drop in and out of practically any crew, and she saw a lot of space with this boon. She maintained contact with Anderson, and a few friends from the N7 program, and always bought the squad a drink when she was at the bar, but always went back alone.


	2. Alea Iacta Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard has been sent on an impossible mission, aboard a ship that doesn't quite feel like her ship. She's never been tied down this thoroughly before but now duty holds her in place. She has to settle in.

_Be humble for you are made of earth._  
Be noble for you are made of stars.  
\- Serbian Proverb 

And here she was, onboard the Normandy – which had not been her ship long enough for her to be able to comfortably call it her ship, but it was hers, standing next to Joker, who was now technically her pilot. Speaking words, and they might have been her words but they felt much bigger than she had ever felt, words which carried a past she had grown into. These days she had a legacy, a name that preceded her. Sara Shepard had meant to get big but not so big as to surpass Anderson, who got smaller and smaller as she gazed out the port-side window as Joker pulled out of the Citadel. Saying goodbye to Anderson had felt more hurried than usual; she had kissed him once on the cheek and smiled sadly, and whispered an apology in his ear. He had shaken his head and patted her shoulder, whispering to her not to worry. He knew she was prone to such thoughts. She had glanced down and he had tipped her chin to meet her gaze, slapped her shoulder, and sent her away with a salute. 

Now, she was to fight an enemy she knew next-to-nothing about. Save that he was Turian, a traitor, and commanded an army of Geth, which should have been an impossibility. As a child she had watched films of the Quarians and Geth and the ensuing war, and she had always thought Geth to be a boogeyman, something to scare children with. A galactic ghost story. Now she was to fight these countless enemies and track down a rogue Spectre; a rank which she could now, alongside commander and N7 vanguard add to her long list of titles. 

With all this urgency pressing upon her and the onset of a killer headache that had not subsided since the beacon hit her, tonight she needed a drink more than ever. Not Serrice. Maybe Elasa; she knew they had some on board, perhaps Chakwas had hidden away a bottle- the doctor favoured Asari brews, something Shepard shared. It had been a long few days: she had lost a recruit, almost lost her job, then been promoted. Now she found herself connected to a ragtag crew that she had assembled in a hurry and with whom she would be with for the foreseeable future, along with a ship that she was now commander of. She hadn't been this tied down for so long. Sara mulled over all of this as she sat down in the room dedicated to the minibar, taking up a stool and thumbing at the chess-board to her side as she lifted up a bottle from the innermost lip of the counter, where Chakwas stashed away the good stuff. She twisted it open and poured a shot, then after some hesitation added an extra tipple. She took a sip, it was sweet, then smooth, then sour and it burned on the way down in all the right ways. Already, Sara could feel the stress of the day melting away as a familiar tingle warmed her joints. She didn't notice the door open nor the figure walking in till he had sat down beside her on the only other stool and poured himself a drink. Something Turian that sparkled with a peacock iridescence in the low light. 

Sara took another sip and then turned to the figure next to her. Garrus Vakarian, new recruit, ex C-Sec. In this light, his face looked more reptilian than avian, and the low, fuzzy strip-light highlighted the blue of his clan markings, spread across his cheekbones and painted meticulously into place. She'd always found Turians cold to talk to: as though their personality was complimenting the fact they were angular in structure too, but she bore them no ill will. She was sure many Turians could say of humans that they were stubborn, headstrong, individualistic. Intermingling beget stereotypes, after all. She raised her drink to him and nodded, and he did the same. 

“Long day commander?”

his voice was husky and sharp, with a metallic click underlaying his words.

She snorted, then nodded, then replied. Inter-species talk was easy, for everyone at all times wore translators that automatically translated speech to the host language; she had to admit, she found it slightly odd that, at all times, they were speaking their own language. Surely, it didn't cultivate cultural exchange...? But learning seven new languages at once to accommodate for the entire galaxy was an undertaking. She knew a little of Asari, Turian, and Hanar; languages which she found beautiful, and frequently read the poetry of, but why bother when translators were so commonplace? 

“Long day and then some, Vakarian”. 

“Heh, I'll drink to that.”

The remainder of this first encounter was spent with them sat in silence, sipping their drinks. They were both soldiers. They both understood the importance of solitude, of silence, of space to oneself: you would talk when you needed to, and never before. And she appreciated that. Before she left, she again nodded toward him. A curt tip of the head which he returned, apparently familiar with human customs. His gaze followed her out and right as she stepped out the door, there was a chirp as he cleared his throat and he spoke again. 

“Shepard, I hear you're something of a sharpshooter?” Sara hung back and leaned in by the doorframe, eyes peeking over the edge. Tired, but sharp despite it all.  
“That I am, Vakarian, that I am.” He turned to her, and she saw him fully in the light for the first time. Turians were much rounder than she'd anticipated, much more than just angles. He had crests and hard lines, yes, but there was a softness to his jawline and shoulders and in this light his clan-markings were as intricate as they were beautiful. Framed by his tough combat armour, he was both imposing and lithe, a thin, muscular strength to him; Shepard could see why Turians were imposing on the battlefield, and she found a newfound respect for them and anyone who fought them. More than ever, now, she felt lucky to have recruited such a man – an alien – onto her crew. 

“You fancy a little competition?” from here she could see his eyes sparkling with the prospective thrill “see who gets the most head-shots. Loser buys drinks on the Citadel.” she cast her gaze down to the floor, arching the tips of her fingers then pursing her lips. Her mouth curved into a smile. “Alright Vakarian, you're on.” And she extended her hand to shake. He stood up and walked over, a spring in his step from the extra joint in his knee, and took her hand. Firmly, but not with malice, and shook. 

There was a final nod, before he went off to his quarters – the crew's quarters – and she retreated to hers. She didn't feel entirely at peace but she left feeling a little calmer and a little more at ease with the state of things than she had in a while. Who knew. Perhaps settling down and sticking with a crew would prove to be a good decision after all? Even if the decision had been made for her, and she felt as though she was naught more than a political tool being used to ascend humanity in the eyes of the council. She'd done much, yes, but surely no more than anyone else and she'd lost more good men than she had any right to. The loss of Jenkins weighed on her mind. She should have gone first, she should have taken point. She closed her eyes a moment, and his eyes reflected back in her thoughts, cold and dead and joining those eyes which had haunted her for years, now. Was she afraid, or was there genuinely someone better suited to this than she? Kaiden had all the faith in her, as did Ashley, but it would be insubordination to say anything else. 

This could be a comfortable way to settle into a crew, though. Out of duty she had to remain till this thing with Saren was finished, which was as good an excuse as any to remain. After all she already knew a good deal of this crew, having been stationed with them and Anderson for a while - perhaps guilt at Anderson's mandatory benching was getting to her too. It was a lot to process. Anderson. He had been her mentor, and now here she stood, in his cabin on what should have been his ship. And although the room had been cleared out in anticipation of her arrival, the scent of Anderson – dry scotch, fabric conditioner, hairspray – lingered in the air. She sat on the bed and opened her console, checking through her emails. There, as though by clockwork, was one from Anderson. 

“Shepard,  
Next time you come to the Citadel let me know, we'll catch up over drinks.  
Good luck.  
Anderson”.

Sara took a few minutes to arrange her books, clothes, and a few photos. Her books went on the one shelf provided, a collection of poetry, history, and beginner's language courses. Clothes, tightly pressed and steamed, thin underclothes perfect to wear under armour, went on her bedside table next to her alarm clock. And finally taking pride of place on her desk, a photo of her and Anderson, grinning and shaking hands. Military service was so clinical, the allowed items so frugal, and she did somewhat miss the home comforts of her apartment back on one of the human-allotted stations; fluffy blankets, cushions, and tasteful art from Elcor sculptors. Perhaps when she retired, although that would not be another fifty years at least, and she snorted to herself. Thirty and thinking of retirement?  
“You gotta stop running one of these days, girl.” She whispered to herself. And with that affirmation to herself, she nodded and resolved to stay with this crew. Her crew, she corrected herself. Shepard leaned back into the bed, so tired she forgot to even take out her bun, the cotton of the bedsheets scratchy and soft all in one. She was asleep before she'd even closed her eyes. Alcohol doing short work of her, and the sheer exhaustion of the past few days granting her a long, deep, and restful sleep. 

The next few weeks were odd-jobs for the Alliance whilst she gathered all the intel she could on this Liara T'Soni, and Saren. She wasn't going to charge in blind on the edge of what could have been a Geth incursion. She was going to come prepared. The Alliance could always use more hands where the council wouldn't reach to, and she was more than happy to oblige and notch a few more wins on her belt. Pride drove her, both a pride in her work and in herself, as did equally duty - the third reason was this bet with Garrus. The past few missions groundside they had hung back as they sent in Wrex to do some damage up close in the way only a seasoned Krogan merc could. Honestly, his enthusiasm almost scared Shepard, but most of all she was just glad he was on her side. From this distance she could pick off mercs and bandits, laying down in the dirt with the butt of the gun resting atop her shoulder, Garrus a few feet away. That way they only had to whisper to one another when they got a headshot, and it wouldn't give away their position. Sometimes in the silence after the initial gunfight, when Wrex went around checking the bodies, they whispered jokes to one another. There was a slight species barrier in the jokes, but they laughed despite it.

Even after all this time, and seven years since her training, she found the pop of a bullet, the arc of a body as it hit, strangely satisfying. There was a rhythm to it. Line up the shot; ready the trigger; breathe; take the shot; reload. Sara found it satisfying, too, to compare the number of head-shots she had with those of Garrus; currently they were both head-to-head on seventeen, after seven missions. 

After a few weeks, she had begun to realise the comfort in having a familiar crew. At five months, this was the longest time she had spent on any one away vessel in a good five years- she usually limited her visits to around three months then went back to Arcturus for deployment elsewhere. Of course, they had only been on the proverbial road with the full crew, on Saren's tail, for six weeks at this stage, but Sara had found herself settling comfortably into a routine, and rapport, with the crew.

Tali had been shy at first but warmed up surprisingly quickly when it came to talking about electronics and her own Quarian culture, which Shepard was fascinated by. Vids and libraries had very little information on the Quarians, who were an insular culture. The commander gave her time, and let her tinker onboard the Normandy. Not that Joker didn't complain, or at least, complained till he realised it had decreased emissions or increased speed, or some other intuitive fix that none of the Alliance engineers had thought of. 

Shepard got on less well with Kaiden, who she felt was naïve, too straight laced for his own good; he said he expected casualties, but Sara didn't feel anything behind those words. It was as though he said it out of courtesy rather than understanding. She, similarly, didn't really get on with Ashley as well as she'd hoped; Ash reminded her of her parents, more than she was willing to admit, and it brought home uncomfortable memories of the fact she hadn't heard from them. She knew she'd been on news vids, and there had been nothing. 

Wrex, most of all, was fascinating: his stories were hard to tease out, but once you did they were truly something, and Shepard secretly wondered whether the Krogan liked being venerated, listened to. She could learn a lot from him and she already had. She would only keep learning she was sure. 

And of course, Garrus, who accompanied her on every mission. She'd helped him tinker with guns, and in return he had tinkered with hers, and there had been many a conversation on the perils of bureaucracy. She had come to respect him greatly as a soldier and as a friend despite the short boardings, aided perhaps by card games and more than one drink. She hoped he felt the same for she felt that of all her crew, he and Wrex were the ones she had come to respect the most. Wrex, as a surrogate father figure – as bizarre as that might sound to some, he was old, and cared for her in his own brash way, and had much to teach her and talk to her about. And Garrus? They shared stories as soldiers of their respective races coming into Citadel politics relatively new, and after the first-contact war, the two of them. And for those reasons, she hoped to get to know him better, and thus, a new perspective.

Yes, Sara thought to herself as she typed up the latest mission report, she could get comfortable here.


	3. Vitaam Regit Fortuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus' bet comes to a close, and she takes counsel from Anderson during a brief break aboard the Citadel. It leaves her with lingering questions and very few answers.

_“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.”  
\- Harriet Tubman_

Picking up Liara T'Soni had been no small feat. A Krogan Battlemaster, far too many Geth, and a planet that hardly aided in the whole endeavor on account of it being impossibly hot and coated with a veneer of lava, at once solid and molten. A beautiful mix of reds, oranges, and blacks that created a hot mess of dry and humid heats that made it hard to breathe. But, they had managed. And perhaps not more importantly but important insofar as it was a matter of pride for her, she had won the bet. Her and Garrus had realised it would be neck-and-neck till the end of this mission if they weren't careful, so had resolved to finish their by the end of the day and focus.

It was hard to gauge a headshot on a Geth, but both she and Garrus had decided aiming for the lamp-like portion of their top half was the best bet, and if the light went off, it was likely a headshot. And she had shot down a Geth Prime with just one such shot. Not with her rifle, either, but with her pistol. Her pistol packed a punch, moreso than average pistols, on account of her tinkering and messing with it like she would with any weapon she had. At the expense of rate of fire, it could punch heavily through shields and that had proved advantageous when what they had both thought of as a downed Prime had crept up on the pair of them. She had spun around and without so much as a hesitation gunned it down before it could put up shields or blast her with its shotgun. It crumpled to the ground, a crumpled heap of synthesised carbon, glasses, and metals woven through in a rather intricate curlicue that passed through its shoulders and arms, as though the wires were muscle fibres. For a moment, Shepard wondered if opening up its chest cavity would reveal a synthetic heart. She turned to Garrus, pistol hanging from her hand loosely but primed. 

Even Garrus had been shocked, his mandibles hanging slack and eyes wide as they could be, staring at Shepard. She wasn't quite sure he'd wanted her to see him like that, but it made her chuckle. He clapped once, then came a whistle, and what she had begun to read as a wry grin as his mandibles twisted up and to the side a little. She'd found herself fascinated by the intricacies of Turian facial expressions as of late. The way his mandibles moved, and she'd found herself watching Garrus a lot as he spoke. 

“You really blew that one out the park, Shepard. That's how you humans say it, isn't it?” and she nodded, unable to suppress a proud grin and a small fist-pump to herself.  
“So how many was that in total Vakarian?” she inquired, an air of innocence that they both knew was entirely fake. As she spoke she checked the heat sink of her gun and adjusted the sights. He tossed his hand as he responded.  
“Yes, Shepard. 31 headshots each, till that one which puts you up to 32.” Again, she grinned, the scar in her lip warping it up to more of a sneer than ever before.  
“So that's drinks on you then, Vakarian?” she said, with a tip of her head, as she readjusted her bun and tightened it. He nodded.  
“Next we're on the Citadel, let me know. Next round's on me. Think you deserve it for that shot alone.” She laughed, as she holstered her pistol once more and turned, motioning for the Normandy to come in. The Turian walked behind her and Sara half wondered if he was having the Turian equivalent of a strop. Least until he walked past her, with a pat on her shoulder. Clearly, he had been studying human body language vids. She would have to do him the same courtesy.

Back in her quarters that night, she had downloaded a few educational vids here and there but had gotten distracted by extranet videos of Pyjak doing cute things, and then into the myre of 'Cute Alien Species Doing Cute Things' that was the vids network, and a particular soft spot of hers. She remembered to shoot off a message to Anderson, warning him of the brief time they would have to catch up. At two months, it was hardly the longest she had ever gone without seeing him but she would take any opportunity she could. It could be years till she saw him next. She sent a message to the whole crew granting them the chance to go to the Citadel for the few hours they were docked, and turned her terminal off. Then, she left the room to go and watch at the window. 

It was difficult to, in human terms, describe the sheer desolation of space travel. There were few words that could quite describe the majesty and loneliness of such a sight. Colonial vids had it penned as a great, beautiful expanse of stars and new frontiers and as such many human vessels including the Normandy, had windows gazing out to space for anyone curious as to the view. The view in question was stunning, awe-inspiring but also terrifying: a vast, great, nothingness punctuated by satellites and asteroids and stars, just as far off as they were back on earth. In Shepard's eyes it was nothing more than a structural weakness; no Turian Frigates or Asari Dreadnoughts had such window views and though the Normandy had cut down, on account of its multi-species engineers, there was still one portside window and one opposite that too. Conveniently, right next to the bar. Just in case any new recruits got navel-gazey and wanted to terrify themselves with the vast, unknowable emptiness of space and all it entailed.

In truth, the stars were just as far away when you were in space and whilst they shone brighter they were a hollow beauty. A beautiful sight to behold, yes, but Shepard's favourite view was the planets as they came into dock. There was nothing quite like the view of the Citadel -or a planet- as you came into dock or land. The Citadel, especially, was a sight to behold with its many arms, all holding millions upon millions of citizens, as well as the glancing view of the Destiny Ascension as you pulled in to the C-Sec dock. The lights alone were beautiful, a sort of synthetic constellation of oranges, yellows and bright whites; the cafe-signs and streetlights of the wards stood out more than the regular lights, or perhaps it was that Sara felt slightly more at home on the Wards. They reminded her of the streets. After all of this was done, she told herself, she would go to her favourite Ramen cafe and treat herself to a bowl. It was the little things that kept her going. 

Sara glanced down to check her PDA, and had had a response from Anderson. Too early for drinks, he surmised, but they could get a coffee on him. That thought satisfied her. As she changed out into Alliance-appropriate uniform she dropped a message to Garrus reminding him to get drinks; they would not be staying long enough to drink properly for some time, but a stock-up on the whiskey cabinet couldn't hurt. They could share it later, maybe have a chat. She strapped a pistol to her thigh, just on the off chance something went wrong while she was on shore. Then as she left she waved to Joker and made a mental note to bring him some of the Asari Marinade he was so fond of, though she wasn't sure which bit – the Asari, or the Marinade.

Anderson was waiting for her at the port right as she got off. At first he extended his hand to her, and as she grasped his hand in a warm greeting, he pulled her close into a tight one-armed hug which she heartily reciprocated. A grin danced on her lips before she'd even had the chance to think and she smiled at Anderson, who smiled warmly back. For a while they simply strode in silence as they made their way towards a cafe on the wards that sold rich-roast Elcor- bean brew just like you could find on earth. Shepard had only gotten into coffee after her time aboard military vessels, but Anderson assured her it was just like the brews back home. 

He grabbed them both a table in the corner and then ordered at the counter, coming back with Shep's customary brown sugar and cream, while he drank his black. He slid her cup down and she watched the liquid swirl and curl around the cream, stirring up a mini whirlpool in her mug. For a few moments, she didn't meet Anderson's gaze, merely nodded in thanks for the mug, her hands wrapped around it, fingers slid into the handle. Anderson knew not to push her, and he sat in a silence that was as comfortable as it was familiar and finally Sara looked up at him, unable to hold together her stoic commander act for the one man who knew her better than she knew herself. Sad wasn't the right word, disquiet was more apt. 

“Anderson, I-” he raised a hand to stop her before she could finish her sentence, and shook his head.  
“Shepard, no. There was nothing you could do. Sure, early retirement isn't really how I expected to finish my career but I'm not doing too badly. Someone has to keep an eye on Udina.” he smiled warmly at her, and she huffed, shoulders sinking as she closed her eyes and took a long sip of her coffee. From there, Anderson lead the conversation.  
“So, how's the crew treating you?”  
“Well, well. Its weird being so...-” she trailed off, took another sip of her coffee.  
“Tied down?” she looked at him and nodded.  
“You know me Anderson. I like to stay on my feet. Don't like getting too comfortable.” Anderson sniffed, arched an eyebrow. His eyes were on Sara as she drunk, watching her. She knew that look.  
“I think it'll be good for you, Shepard.” his voice was soft, but firm. “I've been watching you dot around, not putting down roots.” she sighed, she knew he was right, but the words stung. Sometimes she forgot how sharp Anderson was, for all of his all-encompassing hugs and soft demeanor, beneath it all he was a soldier, observant and hawk-like. He'd clearly planned this talk for maximum effect.  
“You needed a crew to call your own. You've worked hard for this, you deserve this. I watched you when you were a recruit and I knew you were special, and Akuze- it was horrible. But we're soldiers Shepard. We've all lost people.” she closed her eyes and let his words wash over her. She'd never had a parent's guidance before this; both a comfort, and a tedium, she presumed this was how every person her age, with a guiding star father figure felt. “Now you've got the Normandy. You know the crew, you know every man under your guidance. I can't speak for the new recruits, nor the aliens, but I can speak for your judgment. Let down your guard a little, Shepard.” Shepard nodded.  
“You're right, you're right. I know you're right.” she relented with a sigh, shifting in her chair and waved over the waitress – a purple Asari with a gorgeous smile and tiny, dotted tattoos on her brow – nodded and came over, pouring her another brew of the strong, bitter coffee that the Elcor were known for. As she walked away Shepard watched her, and Anderson reached across the table and took her hand.  
“Shepard, you don't have to be alone.” Shepard chewed on the inside of her lip and glanced over at her mentor, relenting and nodding in his direction.  
“I've got you, Anderson.” she whispered, daring not to speak louder incase her voice broke, as it was threatening to do.  
“Yes, but you need friends, you need ...” he licked his lips as he tried to think of a way to put this tactfully. “You need a partner.” Shepard let out a loud, barking laugh; one so hearty she had almost forgotten it was within her.  
“A partner? Anderson you're really taking this Dad thing to heart aren't you?” the man across from her laughed, aware of how he sounded. But he was serious - she could see that from his eyes, sharp and intense, but soft, caring. Eyes she had long admired, long sought to mirror.  
“I care about you, and I think it would do you good. You lose soldiers under your command just like we all do. Its better to care for your crew and lose them than come across an unfeeling tyrant.”  
“I'm a spacer, Anderson. Partners aren't suited to military life-” and he shook his head at that.  
“Maybe not a long-term partner, but you need something to fight for.” the dark haired woman drank down her mug of coffee quickly, and waved over another, thanking the waitress with a warm smile, and paying for hers and Anderson's drinks with a wave of her credit chit.  
“I'll think about it, Dad” she said, an almost sarcastic emphasis on the final part of her sentence, but meant entirely in jest. Anderson's hand rested against his forehead, and he hid his face with mock embarrassment.  
“I do sound like a father, don't I?”  
“You might have some competition there, Anderson.” Shepard warned, tone mockingly serious. “Wrex has been teaching me all that he knows, I think I might just be able to kill a man in more ways than you now.” Sara finished up her third cup, brushing a free strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face away. “He has some stories that could give you a run for your money, too.” Anderson whistled, brushing back his hair with his free hand.  
“Well, damn. I'll have to break this early retirement and get back out there. Can't have a Krogan outdoing me.”

And together, they both laughed. Shepard had forgotten, in the stress and melancholy, that she could laugh like this; fully, deeply, from the stomach. Their laughter broke the tension of the conversation, and Shepard appreciated it. Spacer life was lonely, and she had no advice to follow except her own. With so many looking up to her as a source of inspiration and advice she forgot that she could confide in other people, turn to other people for aid. He was right. The rest of their time spent at the cafe was full of jokes, laughter and other carefree idle chatter. They'd dispensed with the serious talk and now was the time for catch-up. The next few hours passed quickly, almost too quickly for Shepard, who would spend hours talking to Anderson if she could. He had so many stories, jokes, and such advice. She could only hope to reach his age, and become such a mentor, to whomever she picked up on. She waved him goodbye at the port, saluting him and promising to come see him soon, and headed back to the Normandy feeling more relaxed than she had in recent weeks. 

Most of all, she'd been mulling over his words in her mind. She did need to relax, to let herself get attached to the crew – no, her crew- and make friends. Perhaps a lover would come in time or perhaps she would engage in something more casual but for now, she was content to take small steps. She'd lived a life, thus far, in bits. She'd left the gangs at the first opportunity, she'd never stayed stationed on any frigate too long, she'd kept to herself and the firing range and her action vids but Anderson was right. Akuze was a freak incident. It weighed on her, hard, and she took it harder that perhaps she needed to but the time had come, the Commander could allow herself to relax with this crew. Boarding the Normandy, she dropped by the cockpit and passed joker his Asari Honey Marinade with a smile and headed to her quarters to drop off her clothes, change, and chase down Garrus for the drinks. The Turian was up in the cargo hold again, right next to the Mako, scanning it with his omni-tool and taking a screwdriver to the side-panel. She came up behind him, and cleared her throat. 

“Vakarian!” He turned, screwdriver still in paw and smiled at the human woman.  
“Drinks?” she smirked her wry side-sneer-smirk and jabbed her thumb towards the elevator.  
“Come on. Grab some crew if you can.” Garrus was shocked a moment: Shepard couldn't work out if he was shocked at the assumption that he knew the crew, or at her sudden inclinations towards being social. But, all the same, he nodded and said he'd be just a minute. 

Sara went ahead and set up a table, searching around the room for a pack of cards, which she laid out on the table along with some shot glasses. Garrus came in soon after, carrying a bottle of something Asari, judging by the pale purple colour and flowery smell that was strong enough to sense even when it was bottled. He poured a shot for himself, and for her, and tipped the glass in her direction.  
“Joker said he's with us in spirit but doesn't fancy snapping his shins, and Tali is on her way. Ash is coming over but Kaiden isn't. Wrex said he would drink us all under the table, but another time.”

Sara took down the shot in one, to allay her fears. She could face down a mercenary band fine, but at the hint of social gatherings, she realised she was woefully out of practice. The vids had her cut out as an amazing public speaker, a source of inspiration and strength but really she worried that people saw her as an icon rather than a person: Commander Shepard, star of the Alliance fleet and first human Spectre, all business and protocol before she was a person. Their small group of friends all came by rather quickly, all with their own drinks- Ash came with a case of beer, and Tali brought by a lot of straws. Shepard greeted them both with a slightly tipsy smile.  
“Come on you guys, I'm teaching you guys how to play Blackjack.”  
“Hey, Shepard, I already know how to play Blackjack-” Ash protested.  
“Well then, you can help me teach these guys.” Was Sara's only response.  
“Hm. Never played cards with a Turian before” came the human's thoughtful reply. “Do they have an emotion other than stern?” and the room was filled with laughter, all except for Garrus who simply acted bemused at this assertion. The night was spent amongst fledgling friends, drinking and playing card games badly. And although it always appeared to be night-time in the darkest confines of space it felt as though they played long into that vast, endless night. As they bid each other farewell Shepard began to think that, yes, she could carve out a life for herself here. Make these crewmembers her friends, perhaps family.


	4. In Cursus Proditores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a gruelling few weeks Shepard shares drinks with her Turian crew-member and exchanges stories with him.

_“Welcome out of the cave, my friend. Its a bit colder out here but the stars are beautiful.”  
\- Plato _

Three bullets right into the mouth of an, ancient, eldritch space beast as it screamed a thousand profanities in a thousand languages, her translator struggling with the burden of translating so many different inputs. The Thorian deflated and it would have been comical had it not been grotesque. As it crumpled and fell into a deep pit Shepard hoped against hope that she would never encounter anything like that, ever again. Wrex chucked a grenade into the pit after it.  
“Just to be sure”, he grunted. 

Two bullets. One in the back of the knee, so that he buckled in his run and allowed for a further one in the head. A spray of yellow blood across the back wall and the sharp smell of discharged heat sinks. Sara lowered her pistol from her wrist and heaved a deep sigh. The corpse of the recently deceased Dr Saleon lay still on the floor. She hadn't wanted it this way. As she turned to Garrus, she saw his mandibles flare with what she presumed was irritation.  
“So he dies anyway? What's the point, Shepard?”  
Sometimes, she wondered that herself but now was not the time to voice such a concern so instead she looked him dead in the eye and pointed her finger at him, somewhat accusatorily, with eyes that said 'danger'. Eyes that said not to answer back.  
“We gave him the choice, Garrus. We said we were taking him in and he chose to try and take us with him. He chose.”  
The Turian paused, considering his next words carefully.  
“Yeah. You know I don’t think I’ve met anyone quite like you commander.” 

One bullet. Between the eyes. There was anger and sadness and relief in the eyes of the matriarch as she gazed up at Shepard, as her pupils dilated, as life left her body and the gun she had shot herself with cracked to the floor. The beautiful Asari heaved a last breath and her eyes steeled, cold and unresponsive. The commander glanced over to their other Asari compatriot – in her eyes lay sadness, despondency, pain. Asari lived for thousands of years sometimes, and death was a concept they were often not all that familiar with; spiritually, death was more reincarnation, but that did little to assuage the pain Sara presumed Liara was feeling right now. One bullet, and a thousand years of history and culture and being were erased. Shepard could never get over that concept. 

Back on the Normandy Shepard was typing up a mission report on the events of the past week, events that felt more like an entire month had gone by. As she typed, she talked to Joker -some stupid jokes about a Volus, a Vorcha and a Drell at a bar-. And to her side, a check-list of all the Normandy stock, that she went over and ticked off. In short, a day's work as a commander was never quite finished. At her other her side she leafed through a pamphlet of Turian and Asari body-language basic. She wanted to make sure she had the correct body language for when she checked up on Liara. Shepard would give her a few days to process, then would go and check up on her. That would also allow the commander to debrief everyone that needed debriefing. They'd gone almost directly from Feros to Noveria, then to Doctor Saleon on the way back as per Garrus' request. Shepard wouldn't forget the looks on the faces of the prim businessmen as she stormed into the galactic trade hub, covered in Thorian vomit and a day's accumulated filth demanding to speak to one of their higher-ups. She'd gotten back to the Normandy a scant few hours ago, and the ache and exhaustion of the past few days was starting to catch up with her. She could feel it clawing up her spine, an ache spreading through her muscles that made it hard to think, a sharp fuzzy static in her mind.

The past few months on board the Normandy had been an ever-increasing cacophony of activity. Tracking Saren, killing Geth, constantly on the move. She'd only really had time to herself in the brief periods when she'd just woken up and just gone to bed, and in these moments she sat in her bed, closed her eyes and enjoyed the hum of the computers. Tali said the Normandy was silent, and perhaps to a Quarian it was but to her it felt alive with an incessant hum of computers, footsteps and monitors. Sara had been able to send brief emails to Anderson but unfortunately she'd been in more contact with Udina: part of the job was keeping the human councilor up to date with her exploits, and relaying messages to the Council. More often than not, humanity was under a lot more scrutiny than the other species as their acceptance into the council was somewhat hinging on this mission. It was a lot to take in, a large mantle that tied her down and was both a blessing and a curse. Her current freedom came from this mission, but the future of the current bid for a council seat for humanity was resting on her shoulders. As was, possibly, the fate of the entire galaxy. She tried not to entertain that thought often, for every time she did the pit in her stomach got bigger and bigger. 

Today was Thursday, and thus, she had time for a shower. The past week had been the most intense yet. Besides that, her schedule had been eaten up by Admiral Hackett handing out missions like they were going out of style; comm-links with the Council, demanding as they were; mission debriefings held in the communal space and then mission reports ate up the rest of her time. She barely had time to eat, shower, or read her books of poetry. Sometimes Joker called her on the comm to remind her to grab some food from the mess hall, other times still Garrus had brought her something on his way back to his digs. Always, she greeted him with a smile and a nod, and the promise that they would go head-to-head in the firing range sometime after this was done.  
“Right you are commander” was all he would say, every time. Still, there was satisfaction in this work and she reminded herself she had signed up for this. Anderson would be proud of her no matter what, that she knew - like any father, he was proud and would be proud no matter what. She had nobody else to make proud but herself. 

She straightened up at this thought. The one word that stuck in her mind was nobody. That word stuck like Batarian Jam in her mind as she gathered up her towel and fancy soaps that she'd picked up the last time she was shore-side. One was Asari and smelled like flowers and sea air, and the other was Salarian and was supposed to do something to her hair. But her hair was wild, and even the best Salarian minds had not been able to concoct anything that could help her. 

Lucky for her, her shower wasn't communal. The rest of the crew had to make do with showers that were half-way across the ship, and a rather cold, awkward trek back to the quarters at that. But she got a private shower all to herself. Sara Shepard turned the shower on, and stepped in. And for a brief few minutes, she was away in a world of warm showers, without a need for paperwork or comms or running around in grimy, sweaty armour. Shepard hadn't realised how much she needed a shower until she was in there, with warm water gushing down her aching muscles and cleaning the sweat from her hair, the grime from her shoulders and the grease from her hands. It was the only luxury she allowed herself on the current mission. As a commander who had been a grunt, she knew how important it was to not seem like you were abusing the boons of your station: if you did, soldiers under your command began to see you as pampered and prissy, spoiled. She was none of those things, she could knock 'em back with the best -and worst- of them, she pulled her weight and drove the rover almost as well as she danced. Still, she had a rapport to maintain and she wanted to show her soldiers that she was no different to them. Sara let her hair down as she showered, running conditioner through with her fingers and undoing the tangles of three days straight work. She didn't want to think about the gunk the Thorian had secreted on her; it had been foul smelling then, it was fouler smelling now.

A rap at her door, bony knuckles tapping.  
“Just a second” she called as she wrapped a towel around herself – soldiers in the Alliance were more than used to bodies: male, female and neither, alien and human, naked or clothed – and came out. She grabbed a hairbrush and pushed the button that opened her door, and in walked Garrus. Shepard brushed through her hair, first with her fingers, then her brush, and turned toward the Turian.  
“Vakarian, what is it?” Garrus was momentarily taken aback.  
“I don't think I've ever seen you without your fur- what is that? Fur? Is that the term?” Was the first sentence out of his mouth. Eyebrow raised, Shepard turned towards him, hand on her waist and other in the tangled mess of her hair, eyes twinkling.  
“Fur?” Was all she said. And here she thought he'd been studying human body language. The cultural barriers between aliens were still great, it seemed.  
“Its- Its not fur, is it?” And now, he almost sounded sheepish, deflated from his cocky persona. Shepard shook her head.  
“We call it hair. I tie it in a bun.” Garrus nodded to himself, and untensed.  
“Anyway thats not why I came here Commander. Shepard,” he said “I was wondering if you wanted a drink? Even Turians take a break sometimes.”  
Shepard laughed.  
“I'm not a Turian, Vakarian” she said back. Again, Garrus looked flustered, taken aback almost, his mandibles flexing a few times before he spoke again.  
“No I know, I just-” he took a deep breath. “You're almost Turian in the way you think, act, move. Course, Turians aren't as squishy as you humans, but, I've a deep admiration for your honour commander.”  
“Wow, Vakarian. Should I expect a proposal next week?” Shepard shot back. On missions, their banter was an enjoyable boon, and they had always enjoyed a comfortable rapport in the mess hall.  
“Heh, no commander. I'm just letting it be known that I have a great respect for you.”  
“Cheers Vakarian. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I'll be out for a drink with you.”  
Garrus paused in the doorway, eyes lingering on Shepard as she brushed her hair. He seemed fascinated by it almost. Shepard noticed his hesitation.  
“Will there be anything else, Garrus?” she said softly.  
“No, ah, no commander. See you soon.” and she nodded at him as he turned heel and left. Shepard watched him as the door slid shut, then turned and dressed herself. 

Their regular meeting place was the port-side bar and crew rec room. So far, she'd taught Garrus, Tali, and Ash – the regular drinking party, who were occasionally joined by Chakwas- the basics of Poker (which was impossible to play with Tali as, Shepard had forgot, it was impossible to see whether or not she was pulling faces); Blackjack; and she'd tried to teach them all pool, but they couldn't grasp the rules. Garrus was already waiting for her as she stepped inside, staring out of the window into the darkness. They were currently still circling Noveria and from up above it made for a beautiful sight. The planet's surface was blue, mixed with white, green, purples, which all swirled together like ink on water, and currently the sun was setting, casting a glow across the horizon of the planet from this angle.  
“Beautiful” Shepard said as she entered. Garrus turned, passed her a bottle of some Krogan ale. She took it appreciatively and took a large sip before coming to stand beside him. He was staring at her and she took a larger gulp. “Everything OK there Vakarian?” and Garrus nodded, clicked his mandibles together as though chastising himself.  
“Yes, Shepard. I just thought you might appreciate some down time.” she nodded at that, and gestured for him to sit opposite her. They both took their seats and sipped in silence for a few minutes, simply enjoying each others company. 

Out of the corner of her eye she could see, on occasion, that Garrus turned his gaze towards her. Sometimes, when he glanced away, she looked at him in profile. The angles of his crest and mouth, the soft arc of his back, the thin taper of his hips. Anderson's words weighed heavy in her mind, specifically partner. Shepard had to admit to herself that she had been consulting the inter-species romance pamphlets, that she had been entertaining the idea of courting Garrus in her head. But it felt inappropriate, and she silently chastised herself for even having such a thought. Still, with his gaze so frequently fixed upon her as it was, she had to wonder if perhaps he felt something too. But, she had known when she signed up that romance was something she probably would not get to experience, and she had been OK with that then. Shepard was the first to break the silence.  
“So, Mister Vakarian. How did you find yourself at C-Sec?” his head twitched in her direction as he considered her question.  
“Well, my father was a C-Sec officer through and through. I grew up seeing him on the vids and its a lot to live up to. So I figured I'd do him proud.”  
“Wait, on the vids?” Shepard said. She could remember, as a child, watching news vids from the Citadel. Now she knew why Vakarian was familiar to her!  
“Yeah, why?”  
“Your father was Aetium Vakarian?” this elicited a sigh from the Turian opposite her, both resigned, and slightly irritated.  
“Yes, that was him.” He took a long draught, then added. “Yourself?”  
“Well I grew up on Earth, one of the small colonies. I, uh, I ran with small gangs when I was a kid. Signed up at twenty three and was on Akuze when the Maw hit.” Sara waited to see whether that elicited any reaction from Garrus, but it did not, and internally she breathed a sigh of relief.  
“And your parents?”  
“Haven't heard from them in years. I'm in better contact with Captain Anderson.” was all she said, and now it was her turn to take a large sip from her ale.  
“David Anderson? From the First Contact War?” Shepard sniffed, and nodded.  
“Yeah, that's the one.” there was a silence as Garrus thought this over, then an appreciative hum from him. “He fought well. Our people hold him in high regard” with a nod and a tip of his bottle. Her eyes drifted to the window behind Garrus, for a moment. Noveria was beautiful, and the sun had set now so the blues had dulled to navy and grey.  
“What does your father think of you going after Saren?” Shepard asked Garrus, to break the silence. They rarely spoke in anything other than quips and bad jokes, or to discuss weapon mods and calibrations and so on. This new venture wasn't unwelcome, it was just odd to be opening up to someone aside from Anderson. Odd, but not unwelcome, she added silently, to herself.  
“He's not happy with it, to put it politely.”  
“I'd have thought he'd be proud.” Shepard said, almost instinctively.  
“He's C-Sec through and through like I said. Likes his rules and regulations. He doesn't like me shacking up with a Spectre and racing across the galaxy, thinks I should be back on the Citadel with the red tape.” he sounded almost bitter.  
“You shacking up with me now Vakarian?” she grinned, eyes meeting his.  
“You know what I mean, Shepard. I'm on your crew.” he said, clearly in no mood to joke. She sensed she'd touched a nerve.  
“Sorry, Garrus. I'm sure you'll do your father proud.” he tossed his head at this, as though impatient.  
“Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I don't much want to make my father proud if it means rules over justice.” Shepard nodded at that, finished her ale and waited for the Turian opposite her to do the same.  
“Don't sound much like something a Turian would say.” she said. More an observation than anything, but his jaw clicked with laughter.  
“I'm not really a typical Turian.” was all he said. “You're not a typical human, either, Shepard.”  
“I'll take that as a compliment” she said in return, taking the beer he handed over to her and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned forward. Garrus watched the motion with interest, and Shepard pretended not to notice.  
“Its supposed to be. You must know how your species comes across.” Shepard sniffed at this, a laugh bubbling under the surface.  
“Says the Turian!”  
“What's that supposed to mean?”  
“Well, you must know how Turians come across-” by the bemused look on Garrus' face, he did not. She rolled her eyes. “You're all a bit uptight. By the numbers.”  
“Are we?” After careful consideration, she paused.  
“You're a bit looser, Garrus.” Was all she said. That seemed to satisfy him.  
“Wonder what my father would think of me on board with a friend of David Anderson. He shot a fair few of us.” Garrus sniffed, and Shepard laughed but it was a nervous one. He looked at her. “Don't worry, my father isn't like that. He's not that patriotic.” Then, with a twitch of his jaw he added “probably the only thing I inherited from him, if I'm honest.” Shepard laughed at that, and saluted the Turian opposite her.  
“I hear that, Garrus. I haven't visited Earth since I left.” and he looked at her at that statement, mandibles stretching wide in shock.  
“I figured an upstanding human hero like you would have done the rounds a few times...” he said, a hint of curiosity tinging his speech. She shrugged, took a large swig from her ale and smacked her lips.  
“Yeah, I guess. But I left Earth, I told myself it was for good till I got where I wanted. I'm not sure I've got there yet.” Garrus laughed at that, a chirping laugh like a myriad of crickets. A beautiful sound, all things considered, and Sara snorted with him, bringing her hand to her nose and holding in the worst of the laughter. People always said she guffawed.  
“Shepard even my people admire you for your dedication. I'd say you've done plenty.”  
“Maybe so Vakarian, maybe so. But there's so much more to be done...” she sighed at that, and added, to herself 'and many more lives I've got to avenge'. “What about you? When did you last visit Palaven?” there was a hum from the Turian then as he thought, scratching the side of his face with a deep, large sigh.  
“Hmm... must have been five years or so. I've called the Citadel my home for a long while now.” he stopped there and finished his drink. “Guess some consider me a traitor for shacking up with a human Spectre to go hunt one of our own...” as a final musing. Shepard nodded to that, and then as an afterthought she lifted her bottle.  
“There’s nobody I'd rather be a traitor to my species with.”  
“I'll drink to that”. 

There was much more chat, of best shots taken, of politics, of Turian and Earther differences and similarities. All the while, Shepard occasionally caught his gaze as he watched her, and she pretended not to notice. She went to bed that night with a gentle, fuzzy buzz that came with alcohol, and fell into a fitful slumber. In it she dreamed not only of the usual eyes watching her, but of Anderson and Garrus both, watching her and following her every move with their eyes. They said nothing but their eyes betrayed sadness and guilt, as though Shepard was in danger and they were trying to help.


	5. Tergo Lupis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for the Citadel is underway.

_“The stars are scattered all over the sky like shimmering tears, there must be great pain in the eye from which they trickled.”  
\- Georg Buchner _

In the three or four times she had visited the Citadel and gazed upon the tower, not in a million years had she imagined she would end up scaling it and shooting down scores of Geth that assailed its great sides and the streets below. Shepard didn't have much of a chance to mull this over, though, because every time she paused to think a bullet popped against her shields and she remembered to duck her head. Pure instinct, this is how she was running. They'd gone almost directly from Virmire to Ilos. It had only been a few hours since Kaiden had sacrificed himself to get them away; she kept turning and expecting to see the human Biotic just behind her, throwing up shields and waves of mass effect energy. Instead she looked behind her and found Wrex fighting valiantly. Occasionally he glanced over in her direction and offered her covering fire, with a respectful nod. She had shouted him down on Virmire and since then the Krogan had gazed upon her with respect, and had fought with renewed vigor. She knew she had found a friend for life there. 

To the Krogan's left was Garrus, covering both their flank with his sniper rifle, though his was a stretch at this point: Sara had thrust her custom-build rifle upon him and pulled out her pistol as they stormed the building.  
“You're the better shot at this distance Garrus!” she had shouted over the thrum of bullets and Geth-screeches as she had pulled out her pistol, cocked it and fired. He had almost protested but the fire in her eyes was enough to tell him this wasn't the time. Besides, she meant it. She had won the bet on pure luck, in a terse firefight like this Garrus was better at marking targets and tracking the fast-moving shock troopers. The rest of her squad were fighting on various parts of the Citadel offering support to the various C-Sec and allied forces as they fought back the troops swarming down below, getting out civilians and aiding relief efforts. 

Sara leaned out of cover and stormed towards the two Geth that took up the middle of this passageway. One, she shoved out of the way. The other, she shot at with her pistol. Three shots in quick succession, a death-gurgle of static from it -him, her? She wondered to herself- and the Geth she had shoved aside was taken down with a shot from Garrus. She knew it was him because of the whoop she heard from behind her. She sniffed, rolled her eyes, but grinned. Turned away for just a second to signal Garrus to come out and move up the cover, but it was a second without shields, and one of the Geth she had failed to spot from behind its cover up ahead leaned out and clipped her leg. Some sort of phasic round burned through her armour, melting the plastic-woven plate, then made short work of her skin. When she looked down she saw the sinew of muscle, and the glisten of flesh peeking out from her armour. Of course, it hurt like hell, but she couldn't let this down her in a battle. Wrex had already dispensed returning fire, and what remained of the Geth's head lay many feet behind it, torn off by a biotic blast. 

She stumbled in her run forward, but caught herself before she fell and used the momentum to push herself up and on. Pain blistered and webbed through her whole lower leg, as whatever acid had burned through her shields and armour tore up her skin and split its way down her calf. The injury had been small but it was tearing, spreading and now, now it was a mess of fibres, clothing, armour, and her own skin. If she patched that up with medi-gel there was a small chance it would heal wrong, that the fibres in her wound would meld with her body and that could cause all sorts of issues. She would have to keep fighting for the time being. She gestured to her squadmates to keep formation and charge on, moving slowly so as not to tear her injured leg, but moving consistently so as not to be an easy target to any Geth who came: Wrex in front, Garrus holding up the back. And, besides. She had full trust in her squadmates, alien as they were, to protect her and have her back just as she had theirs. And so they made their way up the side of the tower. If she looked down, she got a strong sense of vertigo and dizziness so the only thing for her to do was look up and keep going, keep going, keep going. Run on instinct, run on adrenaline, run on nothing but her knowledge of the Geth and the desire to sock it to that Turian bastard. Passing doorways, making sure they were clear; occasional checks behind her; a shot to the knee of a Krogan Battlemaster before she thrust her omni-tool through his carapace; a blast of kinetic energy to push back the encroaching Geth so that she could pop them in the head, Garrus could line up that shot, Wrex could charge into them. So it went for a good few hours, slowly making their way up to the top where Saren awaited. 

“Clear” she huffed, having taken point to check the doorways of the top-floor landing ahead of them. Sara pretended not to feel the prickling hot-cold of blood trickling into her armour, the cold from the wound an unpleasant juxtaposition to the heat of the blood that seeped and stuck. They had a few minutes to themselves, here. Many of the Geth behind them lay dead and the rest were holed up in the top of the tower so they had some time enough to let their shields recharge to full capacity, reload and tinker with their weapon settings, and patch up armour as best they could. Shepard leaned her back against the wall, propping herself up on her good leg so she could pop away the armour on her bad one. If her leg had been bad a few hours ago it was much worse now. All this she did one-handed, her other hand to her ear, maintaining comms with the Normandy and the rest of her team.   
“Joker, status report.” She buzzed in, voice clipped. It was hard to concentrate as she prodded at her own calf, wincing, but not making a single sound to indicate the levels of pain she was in; levels of pain that were swiftly rising.   
“You've reached the top of the Citadel Tower Commander. Saren should be just inside, he's talking to that ship of his I think, though I don't have a visual on him. Ground teams have sustained losses.”  
A thud in her chest.  
“Are our crew OK?”  
“Tali's enviro-suit has held up surprisingly well. Ash is fine. Liara is holding up a biotic barrier to protect civilians. C-Sec have sustained heavy losses, as have most of our allied forces in the air. But our crew is fine Commander. Shepard.”  
“Right. Inform me if that changes. Shepard out.”  
“Aye-aye.”

Again, her fingers probed the mess of soft tissue in her leg. Wrex watched her curiously, then grumbled.   
“How you humans lasted against the Turians when you've no hide protecting you, I'll never know.” was all he said, huffing. But underneath the firmness Shepard could hear what passed for Krogan concern.   
“Well, Wrex. That's what the armour is for” she said in response, and he grunted. Garrus was also watching Shep but his eyes registered worry, not bemusement.   
“Commander-” he began, then reached toward her as she fell forward, unprepared for the wave of pain that had come when she tried to press a field-dressing to her leg. Bile bit at her throat as she clenched her teeth and blinked her vision clear of the stars that had crept up on her and now swam, hallucination constellations. She felt heavy Turian claws supporting her by the top of her arm, as her leg buckled beneath her. It took her a few moments to steady herself and even her strong leg felt weak, leaden.   
“Shepard” he continued “sit down, I'll patch your leg up.” She was about to protest, but as she tried to put pressure on her strong leg it proved fruitless: again, she buckled, and Garrus again grabbed her, perhaps more roughly than he had intended. She let out a thinly-veiled moan, masking it behind a stream of swears, but Garrus persisted. She nodded and slowly shunted herself to the floor, skidding her foot across and stretching out her bad leg. 

Garrus crouched down beside her.   
“How much do you know of human physiology, Vakarian?” she mumbled out, biting back another wince, another groan.   
“Not as much as I'd like, admittedly Commander. But all Turians serve in the military and I know enough about dextro-amino first aid to help here, I reckon.” Shepard nodded as she unclipped the rest of her armour from her leg, leaving the buckles in place. They were a make-shift tourniquet at this point, probably all that saved her from bleeding more profusely. Garrus used his omni-tool to tear at her trousers, revealing her leg and the full extent of the injury. 

What she had thought of as a graze had actually shot clean into her calf. She could see the entry point. A small neat hole. Judging from the mess of tissue that comprised the back of her thigh the bullet had been a hollowpoint and by the burning she could tell it had been an acid-round. The Turian lifted her leg and propped it on his knee, and she bent it slightly to allow him easier access. He scanned across her with his omni-tool.   
“Missed any major arteries. Just tore into muscle and fat, by the look of it. Lots of debry in the wound, I'll have to pull it out.” was all he said as he pulled a Turian first-aid kit from his back, along with a philter of medi-gel. “This'll hurt Commander” he added, apologetically, as he set to work. 

First was the shell-casing, which he pulled out with relative ease and a nifty pair of tweezers; luckily, it had only lodged in her exposed flesh, and not further in. She hissed, jerked her leg as he pulled, which caused another sharp after-shock of pain to ricochet through her lower body. Garrus looked up at her once, and her return gaze, one that said 'don't', silenced any rebuttal before it could reach his mouth. He made quick work of the rest of the wound; cleaning away the fibres from her clothes, and the shards from her armour that had impacted as the bullet tore through.   
“Its not great but its enough for now, Shepard.” And she thanked him as he sprayed a field medi-gel across her flesh. The feeling was nigh-instantaneous. A cooling sensation replaced the dull burn, as painkillers and a protective bio-shield spread across her leg. Garrus finished the makeshift dressing with a silver-infused cloth bandage, tying it in place tight and hard. Shepard bending her leg to test the movement. Better than it had been, and the pain now under control, she set to work putting her armour back in place. It slotted in next to the belts and straps, and as she leaned forward a strand of her hair fell in front of her face.

She hadn't bothered pushing it back, focused only on clipping her armour back on, when she felt a hand reach forward and push it behind her ear. Looking up, she met Garrus' gaze. There was a look between them, and she bit back any scolding from the touching of a superior officer that almost came naturally to her. Sara just stared, pausing in her movements. A deep heavy rumble from down below – an explosion of some sort- shook her out of any thoughts she had been having, and prompted her into action; she shoved her last piece of armour back into place and jumped up. There was pain but she could allay it to the background as she cast her omni-tool over the door, hacked inside, and ordered Wrex in front of her.   
“Come on you two, move damnit, move!” she shouted, ushering Garrus through before gamboling through herself, just as the door slammed shut. 

Inside was the top-floor of the tower, usually a serene place, was on this day clogged with dust and concrete and thick with the mechanical shouts of Geth, the zip-zip of lasers and an ungodly hum that reverberated through the entire space, as though the air itself was alive. Shepard spot-checked. The exit they had come in from was the only one available to them. There were plenty of choke points both to and from their ultimate goal, but also plenty of cover and, with that, plenty of chance for ambush and Geth. In front of her, she saw the hulking menace of two Geth Juggernauts charging down the aisle towards them, leaping down the stairway that separated the lower and upper levels of the council chamber with an inhuman speed and ease. Sara ducked and rolled, ordering Wrex infront of her and Garrus behind her, putting her back to cover as she peeked out to get the best view. A good ten metres still separated the monstrosities from her and her squad, and she shouted orders to Wrex. 

He threw up a barrier and charged head-long into the first. He was large but not large enough to knock it over; but it did stop in its run to deal with the Krogan, who was more than able to deal with one by himself. That left the second to Garrus and her.   
“Garrus, take down its shields. Now!” she shouted across to him over the din that filled the room. He raised a hand, swept his omni-tool and she saw the crackle as its shields dropped. Then she popped up from her position and shot right for its lamp-light head, landing four consecutive shots and a singularity pulse in before the shields of the brute started to recharge. Behind it, Wrex was punching at the juggernaut he had been tasked with and to his credit it was on its knees. Shepard closed her eyes, charged up a barrier and jogged towards the Geth. A few more shots and it would go down. She landed them easily enough, though the pain in her leg was crackling to life once more and as she reached it to hit it with a final blast from her omni-tool there were tears in her eyes. Wrex had ducked back under cover and Garrus was crouched, running up the aisle to get to Shepard; he shoved her to the side, and into cover, and took cover himself. He glanced across at her.

“Shepard? You OK?”   
“Yeah, just pulled my damn leg. I'll be fine. You hang back and pick them off from here. Me and Wrex will go ahead.” She popped her head up to glance up at the Krogan, who readied his assault rifle and nodded once at her, before charging ahead. Shepard leapt over her cover and rolled towards the upturned table in front of her. Behind her, she saw movement. Garrus was standing up.   
“I'll draw their fire you just get to Saren. Take the bastard down.” the young agent had taken it particularly hard. Being a Turian meant you put honour before everything: to betray the council was the highest betrayal, not only for your people but the entire galactic standard. Garrus had, throughout this mission, voiced his eagerness to put a bullet in Saren. He wasn't about to let him get away. Shepard peeked out from her cover and took a shot with her pistol as Wrex stormed towards the three shock-troopers who had just stormed out from their cover up ahead. Garrus had switched to an assault rifle and was stood waiting for Shepard to run. More Geth stormed down the steps behind Wrex and if Shepard didn't get there soon, he would be overrun; already they were firing barrages of bullets towards her and the Turian. Her shields could deflect it easily enough but the Turian's shields were already dissipating, for he had not the biotic potential. Shepard silently cursed him, and shouted across her shoulder as she made the charge, thowing a wave of energy towards the Geth that scattered them easily.   
“God damn it Garrus keep your head down. You’re not dying for this, not today” but still he stood. Perhaps he wanted to be a hero perhaps he wanted to show Shepard what he was capable of. Above the discord, he chirped back.   
“Shepard I can hold my own, you know that. Go ahead, I'll be fine.”  
“No you won't – your shields, Garrus.” she said back, bursting up quickly to shoot at a Geth that was hitting Wrex in the back. It wouldn't damage him but it would stop distracting him, so he could take out the two in front of him. She dared a glance towards Garrus who had hesitated.   
“Garrus I gave you my rifle, use it. You're the best damn sharpshooter I know, you're more use to me back here. Leave the charge to me and the Krogan.” in the brief moment that she had said that already his shields had dropped and as he looked at her a volley of bullets knocked him in the shoulder. He stepped back, shocked, then ducked. Briefly she entertained the idea of running back to check on him, but she knew Turians were tough in the shoulder and hip; it had probably glanced off his carapace and bone. It might bruise, but there would be no longstanding damage. She heard his voice shouting up from behind cover.   
“I hope you know what you're doing Shepard!”  
“Everyone gets out alive. That means you, me, Joker, the god damn rover. Don't be stupid. Stay down and pick them off.”  
“Affirmative, Commander.” came his clipped response, and she stood up, charged forward and joined the Krogan in a final assault.

The next hour of battle was more than gruelling. It was relentless, but the formation worked. Garrus shone in the back, scoring multiple shots that Shepard would surely have missed and every time he did, the comms flared up with his sarcastic remarks. At one point Wrex even commented “does that Turian ever shut up?” and Shepard laughed and shrugged but she knew they were both equally relieved to have such a sharpshooter spotting them. She and the Krogan lead the charge, ripping through the shields of any opponent who used them, and fought their way up to the council chamber slowly, methodically, and ruthlessly. 

The stand off with Saren was not what Shepard had expected; even Garrus was taken aback by the Turian's humility and shame, his sudden change of heart. Wrex thoroughly enjoyed the battle that came after. When Sovereign fell they all cheered, as exhausted and sore as they were relieved. 

Afterwards came the inevitable interviews, council debates and meetings with politicians of all sides to discuss the future. Of course, as the Commander had learned, none wanted to think of the possiblity of a pan-galactic extinction event or an alien species which most considered a boogeyman and so the Reaper threat was ignored, relegated to horror-stories and conspiracy theorist discussion boards on the extranet. Garrus stood to endure several promotions amongst the Turian Military; Tali was to return to the fleet; Wrex had decided to stay aboard the Normandy along with Liara, and life onboard the ship resumed as though nothing had changed. 

Sara and Ash visited Earth once, to bury Kaiden in a plot with other high-ranking marines who died in service of the galaxy. They shared a quiet drink and reminisced on the straight-laced biotic. 

That night Joker's voice cracked across the comms.   
“Message coming in for you Commander. Patching it through.” she nodded and made her way to her private quarters, where she received all private messages. Garrus' voice broke through the silence of her room.  
“Vakarian?”  
“Shepard.” Sara had to admit, she had almost missed the company of the Turian. The nights spent in the bar seemed longer and lonelier without her drinking buddy and nobody else onboard wanted to listen to her awful jokes about Volus shopkeepers or tinker with their guns in silence. She swallowed back an excited greeting.   
“What can I do for you?”  
“I was wondering where to send this rifle to, ma'am.” of course- in the ensuing chaos, they'd not really had a chance to swap rifles back. Shepard paused, pursed her lips.  
“Keep it Vakarian. Consider it a gift.” there was a murmur on the other end of the line.  
“Thank you Commander, I'm honored.” there was a voice, female, giggly.   
“You in the middle of something there?” she said, hoping the tinge of jealousy didn't come across in the way she spoke. There was an apologetic sigh from the other end.   
“I was just calling, Commander, to say... to say, well, thank you. I learned a lot aboard the Normandy.”  
“There's still a place here for you if you want, you know.” a pause.   
“You know, Shepard, I might find you in a few weeks. How long are you docked on the Citadel?”  
“Another few weeks at least. You know how politicians are.” they both laughed.  
“Alright Commander I'll see what I can do. Be seeing you.”  
She grunted a goodbye and tried not to think of the female voice she had heard, hung up on the Turian and returned to her terminal. There was a lot of mission reports and paperwork to sort out, a lot of news vids to respond to, a helluva lot of interviews and, perhaps her least favourite prospect at the end of all of this, a conversation with Udina waiting. 

The fight was won for now. But, there was still a lot that had to be done, and nobody else to do it but her judging by the way everyone was nagging her. She was looking forward to a long, hot shower and some shore leave after all of this. Alas, it was not to be. After a few weeks, Garrus rejoined the crew. Just in time for her to be sent off away into the Terminus systems to deal with the remaining Geth influx, despite her insistence that they deal with the Reapers she was, ultimately, a tool of the council and they wanted her to keep up appearances and deal with Geth.


	6. Mors Vincit Omnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard died- so why is she awake? And where were the people she considered friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of the second segment of the whole fic, where Shep starts to fall for Garrus and so on.   
> I had finished this segment and moved on to the third bit of it, and for whatever reason my computer has deleted it so its gonna take me a lot longer to write up a second time.

_“Things are as they are. Looking out into the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars, nor between well and badly arranged constellations.”  
Alan Watts_

Sara's world was pain. Brief, but eternal, for that long few seconds it took for her lungs to register that she had no oxygen. The pain she experienced was nothing like any other pain she had felt before; it ballooned in her body and spread, and spread, and spread, till it felt so much larger than she and became her entire universe. It was only a few seconds but it felt like hours. And then, blackness. It crept, it snuck, it clutched her to its breast and crooned in her ear as though she was absorbing the vacuum of space that surrounded her and becoming it. Around her the Normandy fell into orbit, crumbling and crumpling and careening to the planet's surface, charting a course that it would not recover from. Around her the darkness of space claimed the lives of those she had not rescued. Billions of stars from billions of years away glistened, punctuating the sky like a series of full stops to the sentence of her life.

Then she blinked. Blurred faces cast down at her. She breathed and it burned. And then blackness again.

A few more flashes. Lights atop her. Being moved. She tried to move, and could not. Pain, pain, pain. Blackness.

So it went for a good while. Brief intervals where she awoke, and pain and thoughts and bile and screams overwhelmed her. Sometimes she felt as though she had no body. Sometimes she was cold, sometimes she was hot, sometimes she was both and sometimes the things she felt had no words.

“Get up Shepard.” A strong voice. Female. Tinges of American and Australian? This was what registered first in Shepard's mind; then the brightness; then the ache in her jaw. Around her she registered the sharp smell of disinfectant and the hard comfort of a gurney. She sat up. White walls, books on impossible sciences – resuscitation of dead fluids, bone marrow transfusions, constructing artificial nerve endings –; she saw medical implements, lockers and drawers, taking everything in at once and all too fast. She blinked a few times and the sudden influx of information slowed to a rate she could absorb. She was in a hospital, that much was evident. The last thing she remembered she was gasping for oxygen that did not exist in the vacuum of space, and her insides felt like they were swelling, like she was drowning in absentia of ocean. How had she got here? Swinging her legs off of the gurney she put her feet down on the floor, and found that she could walk. In her ear was a translator and it again crackled to life, the woman on the other end talking with urgency that impelled Shepard to move and reach a hand up to her ear to reply.

“Who are you? Where am I?” at first her tongue felt heavy, then it sprung to life with a voice that she recognised as her own, but that felt alien and strange in her own mouth. As her hand brushed against her ear she realised her hair was down. Perhaps in the current situation her hair being down was not the most important thing to deal with but she scanned the room for a hairband. Nobody could see her with her hair down and for some reason the thought that someone might have filled her with a sense of betrayal. A hairband lay on the floor to her left and she crouched and picked it up, reaching behind her and twisting and lifting her hair up into a bun that helped her feel more like herself. Every time she moved, she felt her own muscles tense but there lay something below that muscle that made every move more – she moved and it was her, but more. What had happened to her? Again, the communicator in her ear hissed with static, and she twitched her head. 

“I'm Miranda, I'm getting you out of here. Grab your armour and your weapons and go. Move.”

Instructions. Shepard was a soldier, instructions she could follow even if she couldn't see the instructor she knew how to follow, and she figured that if she wanted answers she would have to move. Over her journey through the Cerberus facility she discovered she had died; she even read her own obituary, penned by Emily Wong, whom she had promised an interview or two to. She discovered not only this, but that she had been rebuilt. That explained the queer feeling in her limbs: she was herself, but more, because what made up herself and what was a mixture of synthetic materials, technology and artificial boons was now blurred. It was technology that was foreign to her but clearly worked. Moving and being a meld of human and synthetic creature left her feeling bizarrely excessive, hyper-mobile, every move accelerated by whatever was inside her. She made a mental note to ask what of her was original, and what was facsimile or simulacra.

Fighting through the facility came easy to her as did her biotic powers, despite the fact that that they had clearly been upgraded or changed: she had gone to throw a lift and instead a massive surge of biotic energy ripped apart her opponents. She was herself but someone had been messing with the bits that were intrinsically her. Tinkering like she was one of her guns - she was, at once, herself and not and that was a bizarre feeling to say the least. All through her perusal of the facility, she spoke to this Miranda woman, her only link to whatever was going on. A quiet voice in the back of Shepard's head said 'its nice to hear another voice too', though Shepard would not admit that she was afraid to this voice, nor to herself, not fully, although her body said it for her; the rush of adrenaline, the hurried breaths. All of this was familiar to her. She was, after all, a soldier.

Along the way she met up with someone called Jacob. Biotic, former Alliance. She discovered two years had passed.   
“Two years?” was all she had sputtered out, popping out of cover to shoot a robot as her companion threw a biotic pulse at them. They both ducked down before he replied.   
“Two years, yeah. I know its a lot to take in. Help me finish these bots off and I'll answer any questions you have.” the voice in her ear had gone quiet. Shepard was scared in the unknown with none she could call friends. She wanted answers. She wanted a hug. She could not remember the last time she had felt like she was not in control. Together, they'd made short work of the robots and before the final bot had even crunched to the floor she had turned to Jacob, an urgency in her eyes.   
“Answers” was all she said. “What- what am I?”  
“You're still you Shepard. Miranda built you back up from what we recovered at the crash site.” crash site. Blink, and she was sucked into space; blink and her oxygen pack had been ripped off; blink and she saw the Normandy falling away; blink, bodies around her; blind, her own blood filling her visor. She closed her eyes and shuddered.   
“I died. How am I here?”  
“I told you – we recovered your corpse and took you back here. This is the Lazarus project.”  
“Here? Where is here?”  
“I'm not sure I should be the one to tell you that.” she automatically narrowed her gaze, glared at him. He put his hands up. “Look I'm just a guard I don't even technically have the clearance to be talking to you right now.”  
“Is this Alliance?” he snorted “no, no.”  
“Where's my crew?”  
“Couldn't rightly say. I don't personally keep tabs. The higher-ups will know though. All I know is: most of them dispersed when you were declared dead.”  
“How bad were the casualties?”  
“Most of them escaped, no doubt due to your heroism. There were, all in all, about twenty-three casualties including your XO.”  
“Joker?”  
“He got out, yeah. Left the Alliance soon after.” Shepard looked to the side, and blinked once. That was a real shame, Joker was one of their best pilots- she found it hard to believe he'd thrown away a promising career in the Alliance just because she'd died.   
Her voice softened. “Garrus?”  
“Dropped off the grid I'm afraid.” she bit her lip, nodded, feeling smaller and smaller by the second. By the time she spoke next, her voice was close to cracking.   
“Anderson? Captain Dave Anderson.”  
“He's on the Citadel still, cushy retirement package I heard.”  
“Can I see him?”  
“We'll have to see what the others say about that.”

Later she learned Cerberus had resurrected her and only her at great personal cost. She had been their pet project, experimental technology. For a long while she sat in silence at this knowledge. Why her? When so many had likely died. Of course, her, because they needed a symbol of human strength and who better for that than Commander Shepard? She was an example to all, human and alien alike, a symbol of all humanity could achieve and be, a paragon of her kind. But Shepard had never felt she was special; she had simply been thrust into the spotlight and forced to sink or swim, and lucky for her she had swam, and kept on swimming, and not stopped till death had tried to claim her. Her bigger qualm, the one forefront in her mind however, was that she was now indebted to Cerberus. Cerberus who had been responsible for everything on Akuze, for what happened to her and Toombs, for the death of Admiral Kohaku and countless human experiments. And even harder to swallow for her, that the Alliance was not doing a single thing to investigate the colonies that were disappearing. Sure, fringe colonies out in the Traverse and they were now part of an organised operation and thus couldn't necessarily put human interests before all others, but why were Cerberus the only people investigating? It needed investigating. So not only had she been resurrected as a symbol, but as a tool for use, to once again be cast out into space chasing after leads and aliens and ghost stories. Hadn't she done enough?

All of these thoughts clustered in her head as she sat on the transport vessel towards god-knew-where. Neither Miranda nor Jacob were particularly interested in conversation, either, so Shepard was stuck with herself and her thoughts, trying to make sense of all the information she had been given. It was a lot to process. A thought that infiltrated her mind more than any other was 'am I still me?' after all, Miranda had made slight improvements here and there who was to say she hadn't tampered with memories? Miranda swore she had not, that her memories and thoughts were her own and the only things that were not here was the synthetic parts that they had grafted in, in lieu of limbs. Apparently, when Shepard got to the she was little more than a torso, a single arm, and half a leg: by some miracle, her heart had survived unscathed but many of her other organs were cloned, transplanted, or entirely fabricated.

When Sara closed her eyes she could remember most of the important details. Anderson's smile, her graduation from the N7 program, tracking Saren through space, countless conversations with Tali and Wrex, sharing shots with Ashley as the sun set above Kaiden's grave, Garrus catching her eye. Despite the relative silence of the transport vessel, Miranda had decided it was time to talk. But not small-talk.   
“Come on Miranda, she's only just got up. I can vouch for her combat prowess personally.”  
“Jacob we need to know there was no psychological after-effects from the procedures.” and then she turned to Shepard. “You were the sole survivor of a mission that went wrong. Where?”  
“Akuze”. the thought bubbled to the surface. “That was your lot wasn't it?” she added, somewhat bitterly. Miranda raised an eyebrow and ticked a box on her pad, ignoring the slight.   
“Who did you leave behind on Virmire?”  
“Kaiden Alenko- I- he-” the commander trailed off, eyes cast to her feet and the floor, blinking back. For her, it had only been a few weeks ago. Two years? Two fucking years? She had meant to write to Alenko's family. She wondered if anyone had, in her absence. Jacob tutted at Miranda and turned to Shepard.  
“Its alright, ma'am. All good soldiers understand that sometimes we have to make sacrifices. You made a hard choice.” she chewed her lip and bobbed her head at his words, but appreciated the comfort and looked up, ready to answer any more questions. Instead, Jacob turned to Miranda. “Come on, stop dredging up the past. She's fine. She's better than fine, she's Shepard.” Miranda opened her mouth to respond, but seeing the look that both Shepard and Jacob flashed her, she shrugged and put her testing pad away.   
“On your head be it, Jacob.” was all she said.

The journey relapsed into silence, punctuated by questions by Shepard so that she could gauge the state of the galaxy - “are the council alright?”; “Udina still councillor?”; “how are Turian-Human relations?”; “food at the Zakera still awful?”; “any scientific advances?”- and, far as she could tell, it was mostly business as usual.

A terse interrogation of The Illusive Man later, and Shepard stepped out into the hallway. And, from the other side, in stepped none other than -;  
“Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, as I live and breathe!” the pilot who had walked in opened his arms wide, and grinned almost as wide. He looked exactly the same, scruffy beard and baseball cap and leg braces.   
“Commander Shepard! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” she wanted to run to him, hug him, he who was so familiar and had seen her through so many missions, as much colleague as he was friend but she stopped herself and remembered his Vroliks Syndrome. So, she let him set the terms and he walked over slowly, a limp in his step but he walked with purpose towards her. She extended a hand to him, and he batted it away with a sniff and hugged her instead, awkwardly for he could not hold her too hard but with compassion. After a second where she just let herself be held, taking comfort in the arms of a friend, she hugged him back gently. He patted her back.  
“Good to see you Commander.” and as she replied, her voice wavered. Truly, he was the first friendly face she had seen yet, and it was more than welcome.  
“Good to see you Joker.” he must have noticed the wobble in her voice, and he grimaced sympathetically.   
“Well damn, if you're gonna get all emotional at the sight of me you might wanna brace yourself for what else we've got lined up.” she snorted. Then, a question proffered itself.  
“Cerberus, Joker?” it was hard to hide the disapproval in her voice. He raised a hand.   
“Hey, the pay's better than the Alliance.” her gaze said all she needed to, and he continued “but also, when the Alliance sat on their asses doing nothing about those missing colonists, and said something about bringing back the Great Commander Shepard, I signed up.” Shepard supposed that was a good answer.  
“Plus, they got this-” and he gestured towards the large bay window that had just opened to reveal the warehouse within. And inside it, the sleek silhouette of the Normandy. But, she presumed, like her they had resurrected the Normandy and added a bit here and there to make it better.   
“Just like old times eh Commander?” he grinned. Sara turned to him and nodded, a smile forced on her lips. Joker seemed to have noticed, and as he went in for another hug he whispered in her ear. “We'll catch up properly later.” then he leaned away and patted her back.

Joker went off to get acquainted with the ship and Shepard went to talk with her new crew-mates. She sniffed at the irony of having gotten used to a crew and settled into things on a static vessel, only to have it wrenched from her and replaced so that she could repeat the process again. Jacob seemed nice but he wasn't keen on chatting and she sensed she wouldn't get any midnight drinks in with him. Miranda, on the other hand, was cold and disinterested and Shepard had little energy to try and connect with her right now. Perhaps later. So together, the three stepped aboard the Normandy S2 and Shepard marveled at the insides, which had definitely had a lick and a spit.

Stepping aboard the first thing she heard was Joker yelling, and instinctively she walked briskly towards the noise. Inside the cockpit, it became clear just what he was shouting at.   
“Stop messing with my chair settings when I'm seated, ya stupid AI!” a voice, smooth and sensual, responded.  
“Mr Moreau I'm adjusting the seating for optimum posture control whilst mid-flight.”  
“No, you're being annoying.” Shepard interrupted the exchange.  
“Wait did you say AI?” and Joker turned to her.   
“Oh hi Commander.” and he pointed to a holographic image in the corner, a blue and white sphere that glimmered as it spoke.   
“I am EDI, Commander. I have a longer denomination but many of the Cerberus team have taken to calling me EDI in an attempt to personify me.”  
“And you're an AI?” Shepard asked.   
“Yes, I am. Will that be a problem?”  
“AIs are illegal in Council Space.” She said, pointedly.  
“So is joining forced with disbanded terrorist organisations, regardless of intent, Commander.” Came the AI's clipped response. Sara sighed; after all, she already had Joker's smart mouth to deal with, and now apparently this EDI was prone to backtalk. Shepard turned her attention to Joker.  
“Joker, can we talk?” he swiveled in his chair to face her, and nodded.   
“What happened to the old team?” was the first question out of her mouth.   
“Scattered to the stars I'm afraid, Commander. You've got dossiers right? We're supposed to go after those instead of gathering the old bunch.” he sounded almost apologetic as he said that. Her shoulders sunk a little at those words.  
“How have you kept these past few years?” was the second.   
“Well, after you got spaced I was sent back to Arcturus for redeployment but I resigned instead. I didn't wanna serve unless it was under you, ma'am. Cerberus contacted me a little after, said they were rebuilding you. I joined up. Mostly been sat on my ass for eighteen months waiting for you to wake up.” Shepard nodded and smiled at him, warmly.  
“Its good to have you here Joker. Appreciate the loyalty” she said, patting the back of his chair. “I'll speak to you later, OK?” and he nodded.   
“See ya Commander.” and with that, he turned back to the control console. As she left he and EDI got back to arguing again, and she laughed- like siblings, or an old couple, was the first thing she thought.

The Commander did a quick sweep of the ship, introducing herself to her new crew and seeing that everything was OK. It was bizarre seeing new faces stood where, in her memories, her crew had stood only a few weeks ago. A pleasant surprise came in the form of Chakwas, sat in her chair in her office, and the elderly woman got up to greet Shepard warmly with a deep hug which she let herself be swept up in gratefully.   
“Hello Commander”  
“Chakwas what are you doing here?”  
“The Normandy is my ship too! Besides, I wouldn't trust any Cerberus scientist with Joker's care. I insisted I go with him.” and Sara nodded at this. Truthfully, she was thankful for another familiar face. Chakwas seemed to have noticed the hesitation.  
“Are you alright, Commander?” Shepard wavered in her next sentence, but sat opposite the kind doctor, and let out a deep sigh she hadn't realised she'd been holding in.   
“This is all happening so quickly” she admitted. “I woke up six hours ago and found two years had passed, and now here I am. Everything I built up was torn down.” Chakwas nodded sympathetically and extended her hand, softly patting Shepard's knee.   
“It would be a lot for anyone to take in, let alone you.” she said, simply. “I knew you only for that brief year you were aboard the SR1, which is hardly any time at all I suppose. But I know you'd made a family of us all. To have that taken away- so soon after poor Alenko-” she sighed. “Well, I'm here if you need to talk. As a friend and confidant.” Sara appreciated the thought, and nodded and made a mental note to come by sometime soon. As she left, she paused.  
“You like Serrice right?” and Chakwas laughed, a laugh that threw her head back. “Yes, that's the ticket!” and Shepard waved as she left the office.

There was barely time to sleep before they'd set down on Freedom's Progress, the colony that The Illusive Man had mentioned as being targeted by whatever mysterious entity was capturing the colonists. Setting down on the surface was an eerie experience. The planet was still, almost too still. There was no breeze, no grass, no insects or wildlife to speak of. Just silence, and stillness, like a reflection in a lake that had yet to ripple. Every building they passed by was empty, every bed made up and not lain in for quite some time. The events of the next few hours were exhausting- she reunited with Tali, then said goodbye almost as quickly as she had said hello, then reported back in with The Illusive Man and was given her next steps and discovered that she was going up against another Boogeyman. The Collectors.

That night she had gone to bed and instead of sleeping, she had laid on top of the sheets and stared at the wall. The first thing that happened when she got into her cabin was have EDI pipe in.   
“Your records showed that you favoured poetry and art, so I had some books and sculptures and works on recent art-pieces sent to your room. I thought it might help acclimatise you. There's also music, drinks, and manuals on your new biotic implant.” Shepard had thanked her, after all, manners were important even when regarding a sentient machine, and had sat down. Then the tears had come. It was all so much, almost too much. To have died and been resurrected, reunited with her ship and not her old crew, sent out on another impossible mission; when would she have done enough for humanity? How many times would they kick-start her heart now it was possible? A night of fitful rest followed full of nightmares where she, one-thousand years into the future, was being woken up and sent out to do her duty, neverending and ongoing, even as she fell apart and was replaced over and over, serviced like an old machine.   
“There can be no rest, Shepard” came the voice of The Illusive Man. She woke with a start.

As soon as she'd woken up and drank a strong pot of coffee she'd turned to the dossiers and the one at the top of the list, that of this Archangel on Omega. She skimmed through it and decided they might as well get to work. Omega, one place on the galaxy she had always been interested in and yet never visited. If she was going to be thrust out onto a mission she had no say over, she would at least use this opportunity to see parts of the galaxy she had not seen before: she promised herself that much. But, before Archangel, before Omega, she would go to the Citadel and greet an old friend.

“Yes I gathered that Shepard. I had to hear from Tali. Tali, Shepard.” Anderson said sternly, not bothering to look back at Shepard as he gazed out across the Presidium, rebuilt and refurbished since Sovereign had crashed through it all that time ago. It was a little worse for wear in some places, and you could see where new shrubbery had been planted, for it had only just really started to grow in. But, it was still glorious, a true testament to alien engineering.  
“You could have at least sent me an email, Commander. I had to learn from rumours and speculation.” Shepard noted the coldness in his voice, the stern way he refused to look at her. Of course, he had every right to be upset but the thought of having upset Anderson, who was basically a father to her, prickled her eyes.   
“I know, Anderson. They wouldn't let me contact anyone, the mission I'm on is classified. Cerberus command only.” every syllable of her sentence dripped with apology, with the silent subtext of her begging him to forgive her.   
“The Shepard I knew wouldn't let others tell her what to do. Especially not Cerberus.” Anderson almost spat that last utterance out.   
“That Shepard died.” she said, before she had even thought. She could feel tears coming now, and she could not staunch them. She had never cried in front of Anderson. Hell, she figured it didn't matter now – he wouldn't even look at her. But, at the sound of her trying to hold in sobs that racked her chest, the Captain turned around. As he looked at her, she could see his eyes were wet too.   
“And yet here she stands.” with that, he strode towards her and pulled her into a hug. “Oh my girl. I thought I'd lost you.” he whispered into her hair. She just stood there and sobbed silently into his chest for a few moments, feeling all the more sorry for herself, feeling like the little girl in this equation, not the strong proud commander she was supposed to be.   
“Anderson, everything is the same. Its the same, and yet its different. I've come back and it was like, hours for me but years for all of you-” she started, and found she couldn't stop talking “-and I'm me, but I can feel bits that aren't. And I'd just settled into the Normandy and now everyone's gone. And, and, and-” she hiccuped, then kept going, and going, taking his silence as an invitation to rant and rave, and appreciating him all the more for it. All the while she spoke, he stroked her hair and held her tight against his chest, and she felt with every utterance, even more a child in his arms. Only once she had finished, did he speak.  
“Shepard, you are always welcome in my office. You don't have to shoulder this burden alone, remember that. You're strong, yes you are, but inviting aid isn't a sign of weakness.” she leaned away from him, and smiled a sad smile, rubbing her eyes.   
“I know Anderson, I just. I remember dying and then I woke up and its all so surreal.” he handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose, dabbed her eyes.   
“If you ask me Shepard, Cerberus crossed a line here. Scientifically for sure, but also morally, ethically. You'd died, they should have let the dead lie instead of tinkering with you like some machine.” he paused, and breathed deeply “but damn, if they were gonna bring anyone back I'm glad it was you” that statement reminded her of the other fear that had been bubbling under the surface. When she spoke next, she spoke in a small voice, scared of the answer.  
“Anderson, am I me? Am I the me you knew?” he held her at arms length and stared sternly into her eyes, as though searching her gaze for something that would tell him the answer. She looked back at him and didn't break his gaze, her hand snaking up and seeking out his hand on her shoulder, she stroked his fingers as he stared at her. Finally, he spoke.  
“That's my Sara” was all he said, and then he pulled her into another hug and didn't let go for a long time.

After the serious talk Anderson went away to grab some coffee, and when he came back he sat down at a table with Shepard and – just like old times- talked Sara through everything going on in the galaxy. He spoke for a long time, with patience, answering all her questions and giving her more answers than perhaps she had asked for. He spoke of Salarian special forces discoveries, the rumours of the Leviathan of Dis resurfacing, the newly refurbished Grissom Academy, the new places to visit on the Citadel, all the new and old actors. Shepard was particularly pleased to find that a new sub-species of Pyjak had been discovered. It had six eyes. Better news yet was that the Blasto films had been re-released. It almost felt like old times and when she got up to leave, it was perhaps the most bittersweet goodbye she could think of in recent times.


	7. Fortuna Caeca Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard tracks down elusive mercenary Archangel, and finds in him a familiar face - and a friend.

_“I believe I can even yet remember when I saw the stars for the first time."  
\- Max Muller _

Garrus Vakarian, aka Archangel – OK, so he had watched perhaps one too many human action vids – put down his scope for a moment, mandibles flaring in shock. There was no mistaking those eyes, he thought to himself. But now was not the time for speculation, or remembrance and so he again raised his scope and peeked in, getting a bead on a Blue Suns Merc who was charging headlong towards him. They hadn't learned, in the entirety of this siege which at this stage had been going on quite some time, not to run in anything other than a straight line.  
“Fish in a barrel” he said to himself as he fired, his voice accompanied by the satisfying thunk of high-calibre bullets against microfibre headgear.  
Sara Shepard charged down the bridgeway, debry and ruined bots and splinters of armour and carapace scattered all around her, smoking and hissing and spitting up sparks, blood sprayed like graffiti across the floors in half a dozen different shades, none of them human. Bullets popped against her shields as she ran, a dozen glancing blows in almost half as many seconds. As she looked up in her visor, reflected, she saw the eyepiece of whoever was above on the balcony firing down, following her movements through a scope. A brief flash of blue.

The Turian adjusted his sights, honing in on her face and twisting the scope. He closed his left eye – biologically, the weaker one, - and rested his right against the electronic scope to gaze downward at the woman charging across the walkway. As she ran, she shouldered several Batarians almost twice her height and they stumbled and fell as she continued the long sprint across. A smile, or the Turian equivalent, came to Garrus' lips. That twist of dark hair, knotted atop her head, those dark, warm eyes. That sneer-smile. Again, he snapped down the scope.  
“Look at you.” was all he said.

It had not escaped Shepard's notice that whoever was up above was clearing a path for her to charge ahead. In front of her, several mercenaries twisted and fell to the floor, as though a puppeteer had cut their strings, enabling her to jump across their torsos and roll into the doorway of the warehouse. Boxes, shelves: plenty of things to knock over for cover or distraction; two exits, including the one she'd just entered by; single stair-case that would be an ample choke-point if she could get up there. She motioned for Zaaed to jump in front and Kasumi came to rest beside her, the two of them covering the other's flank as they crept up and across the room. Behind them, mercs continued to run directly at the warehouse. After seventy-two hours, she figured perhaps they'd resolved to try another strategy but, obviously, they'd decided to keep sending in wave after wave of barely pubescent grunts for Archangel to pop off. From the size of the queue back at Afterlife, they would have grunts for several more days before they would have to worry about losses to their sizable companies. Of course, if it took that long the toll on Archangel was probably going to be much higher.

She'd rolled into the warehouse. From the brief flashes that he had espied of her through his scope, judging by the way she moved, the way she hit, the way she shot- it was her, alright. The only human to remind him of a Turian with her relentlessness. He lost himself momentarily in the memory of a woman but not just any woman to him perhaps the woman, and her hair falling in strands in front of her face, strands that he pushed aside in that brief interlude atop the tower. That small window was all the Mercenaries on the other side needed; while he was distracted, one overloaded his shields and the other took aim and fired with a high-calibre rifle. The bite knocked him back, his head hitting the floor and knocking his vision into a static of stars for just a moment. He pulled a claw to his eyes and rubbed, and when he opened them again there she was, standing above him. Upside down but unmistakeable. 

He sat up quickly, awkwardly rubbing his shoulder with a groan. He pushed himself up and turned, almost too quickly, too eagerly. At first, she stared at him nonplussed, then a frown furrowed her brow. And then she yelled   
“get down!” and pushed him again, diving and rolling to the edge of the balcony. Again, he found himself on the floor but this time as an explosion popped behind him, Sara offered him her hand and pulled the Turian up.

Sara Shepard had recognised him soon as she'd rounded the corner behind him. The armour gave it away first, though after such a laboured fight it was scratched up and dented but unmistakeably his blue-and-black number. The second giveaway were his clan-markings as he turned – blue and streaked across his face, meticulous and prideful. She felt her heart in her throat, as though if she opened it to speak it would leap out, or pop. Tali had been fleeting, Anderson too, and she had been told she would not be able to reassemble her old crew and yet here he was, Garrus Vakarian, knocked on his ass and gazing up at her as though she was the stars on Palaven. She was almost afraid to reach out, as though touching him would ruin the oasis and she would wake up, back on her ship that wasn't her ship, with her crew that wasn't her crew, biting back words in her mouth that almost wasn't her mouth. But then she saw an RPG barreling towards the crew and instinct kicked in, and she was a soldier before she was a creature with feelings, she pushed the Turian down again and dodged, then leaped up and fired. The merc was dead before they hit the ground and she was free to turn back to Vakarian, offer him a hand.

“Shepard” he said softly, a curious click in his mouth.   
“Vakarian” was her response, a nod as she dropped her hand to her side and smiled warm and sad and relieved and worried all in one.   
“So, can all humans cheat death or is that just you?” he quipped.   
“Just me I'm afraid, Garrus” was her soft reply, soft with exhaustion and the spent emotion of a few days solitude.

There was a brief minute where neither of them spoke and instead got into position behind cover: this was no time to get caught up in memories, this was the time to focus. Shepard had defaulted to her pistol as of late, but of course the Turian used a rifle. Sara realised, with a quick glance in his direction, that he still used her rifle: banged-up and secured with enough glue, tape and solder to look nothing like the sleek custom military she had handed him, but her rifle nonetheless. Then, she spoke.  
“Archangel, Vakarian?” and together they shared a laugh.  
“Yeah, I thought it fit.” Shepard raised an eyebrow at that.  
“OK, OK. Maybe I watched one too many action vids too.” and again, the laughter.   
“You'll have to fill me in on what I've missed. Been gone a while.”   
“Yeah, about that- why are you here Commander?”  
“I'll explain in a bit. Let's deal with these mercs first.” was her reply, clipped and short. Together the human and Turian moved, so they were flush against the barricade that made up the balcony, and together they leaned out and over, aiming at the mercs who now flooded the bridge and surrounding area. Shepard ordered her crewmates toward the opposite balustrade, to cover them as they both took out in front, thinning the herd so that the final assault would not be so gruelling.   
“Just like old times, eh Vakarian?” and she winked at him as she aimed, and fired.   
“Competition?” came his reply, short, for he was concentrating on aiming. She huffed, and nodded.   
“What do you think?” for a brief period the two of them shouted numbers back and forth, of their collective head-shots. Garrus was ahead by a few and then Shepard had thrown up a wave of biotic energy and shot the Blood Pack as they hung in the air, adding three to her total and a whistle from Garrus. Again they were neck and neck, and Sara allowed herself a brief comforting thought; that maybe things weren't so bad, maybe the Normandy could still be home. Then, as Garrus had turned towards Shepard to highlight a particularly skillfull shot, a series of heavy rounds ripped through his shields and right through his chest. A brief look of shock, mandibles splayed outward and jaw agape, his hand went to the hole in his hide – a hole that now bled freely- and he had fallen to the floor. Shepard had roared in a manner that was quite unlike her, pulled out her pistol and along with her crewmates had finished off every last one of the mercs in the building.

Blue blood pooled underneath Garrus. Same blue as his markings, was all Shepard could think as she turned to him.   
“Not today, you Turian bastard” she shouted at his prostrate body, pressing her hand to his wound to staunch the flow of blood. Her other hand went to his abdomen and started pushing, as her head searched for any and all information on Turian CPR that she could remember. She pushed down again and again against his chest, counting the seconds and waiting for the Normandy to touch down so she could carry the Turian back aboard. She'd pressed the emergency aid button on her omni-tool so they knew to be swift and bring medical supplies. But, until then, it was Shepard grunting with the exertion of pushing down on torn, but sturdy, skin. She was working up a sweat as Joker crackled through on the comms.   
“Normandy is in place Commander. No idea what you did down there but you might wanna make your escape quickly. There's mercs buzzing like flies here.”  
“Affirmative.” was all she said. Her hand went to the soft flesh underneath the Turian's wrist, where you could check for a pulse, and there it lay, faint and uneven, a dying songbird, but unmistakeably a heart beat. She could hear, already, his breaths coming in ragged, bubbly gasps, but it was better than nothing. With that she lifted him up and supported him in a fireman's lift on her shoulder, squatting to spread the weight of her and a Turian almost twice her weight and the commander pretended not to feel the way her muscles tensed, supported by the thin thread of metal that ran through them all. Her but not her.

Back on the Normandy, she had rushed Garrus to the medbay and shifted him to a gurney that quickly set to work, in an automatic process, of checking his vitals and applying various salves and injections. In the chaos she hadn't noticed that a bullet had lodged itself in her side – missing anything vital, but bleeding like a bitch, in the words of Ash. It had been Chakwas who had pushed her back from the unconscious Turian and motioned to the spring of blood that welled in her side and simply insisted she sit down so she could patch her up. Shepard took a seat, eyes on Garrus.

Medi-bots were dealing with him, cutting away the damaged tissue and pulling out the shrapnel that had burst inside him, monitoring his vitals – heartbeat, fine, breathing, fine, brain waves, fine – but it felt less than fine to Shepard, who chewed her lip as Chakwas fussed. The doctor spoke but Shepard only half listened, ready to pound up at the first sign that Garrus was losing the battle.   
“But you really should be more careful Commander. Coming in here when we've a patient to attend to, bleeding everywhere is an infection hazard-” Chakwas began. Shepard glanced at her, and the rest of her scolding died in the doctor's throat: not out of fear, for she and Sara were friends, but out of understanding. Pity perhaps. She had after all been a doctor with the military going on sixty years at this point. She knew the look of one worried to lose a squad-member. Instead, she went to work injecting Shepard with medi-gel syringes and cleaning up the blood from her side as best she could. The wound was less than serious, of course, and in the sheer adrenaline of the past few hours Sara hadn't felt it – though a bit of her head, the dark bit in the back, suggested slyly that perhaps she didn't feel it because she was no longer human -, but treatment was preferable to none.

There was a soft cough from the Turian that alerted both the doctor and the commander to the fact he was now awake. Both of them got up and rushed over to his side; Chakwas monitoring his vitals and injuries, and Shepard simply to check he was alright. His face was a mess of burned tissue and bruising that tore through his left eye and disrupted the sharp lines of his markings so that, rather than symmetry, asymmetry prevailed. Covered in blood, the two of them nodded sharply at one another as she neared and the Turian moved himself to a sitting position. Against Chakwas' protestations. As she neared, the Turian smiled, and he reached out to the human as she came to his side, and she took his hand firmly.   
“Welcome aboard Garrus” was all she had said. It occurred to her that she hadn't really touched a Turian before. She'd half expected their skin – hide?- to feel hard and cold, perhaps slimy and rough, the way she imagined a snakes skin to feel. But he felt warm to the touch, leathery and soft. She passed her thumb across his and neither of them spoke for a brief few moments. Chakwas clucked her tongue and gently pried Shepard away from the Turian, insisting he needed bedrest and a full check of all his vitals, and also rather pointedly she added that Shepard could do with some rest too.

And so Shepard had retreated to her quarters, sliding out of her clothing and into the shower, then into bed for a fitful nights' rest. Eyes, hundreds of eyes in the darkness; Toombs, Alenko, Jenkins, and too the eyes of Saren and Sovereign, glinting red and hellish in the nightmare-scape of her mind.

The next few days, Shepard got to work assembling the rest of the crew, but after a long day she always returned to the med-bay to check on Vakarian who was ordered to rest up by Chakwas but, with a Turian stubbornness, insisted he did not need to rest and instead set about checking all of her medical equipment for electrical faults. Much to Chakwas' chagrin. After a few days of this, she had had enough and ordered the Turian out, declaring him fit for service on account of the fact he was simply too eager to get back to work. Of course, Shepard only heard of this after the fact.

She had been sitting in the bar area, gazing out at the surface of nearby Omega, which lit up like a beacon of orange, reds and yellow. She'd just spent a rather illuminating few hours talking with their newest recruit, one Mordin Solus, on Salarian spirituality in comparison to the human religions of Buddhism. It was this conversation she now mulled over, along with a glass of Asari Red. Garrus had interrupted her thoughts with the aforementioned story, his drawling, sprawling way of talking much welcome to her. Sara had turned, pressed her hands to his shoulders and took in the sight of the Turian. He was on the mend and the burns and bruises were paling, his skin was mending itself and regrowing, which would take a few months still but would eventually be almost indistinguishable from the rest of him.   
“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” She smiled as he gently pushed her hand away, his touch lingering on the back of her hand and his eyes following her movements.   
“Chakwas had enough of me meddling with her equipment” he admitted, sheepishly. Shepard had laughed at that. Same old Garrus. She could remember sharing her exasperation with Ashley as the Turian had insisted, after every mission no matter how short, on checking up on the Mako and ensuring it was fit for service.   
“Good to see you Vakarian” was all she said.  
“I figured you'd be here Shepard. Just like old times.”   
“Just like old times” she replied, with a tip of her glass. There was no more talking. They just sat and drank in silence, but a silence tinged with mutual understanding. In her head, Shepard thanked every god from every pantheon that Garrus Vakarian had made it, and was here with her.


	8. Fortuna Vitrea Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Garrus bond aboard the Normandy SR2, on a mission which neither of them may return from, leading to her seeking out Anderson once more for some advice regarding her feelings.

_“The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.”  
\- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

Shepard went to talk with all of her crew-mates on an almost daily basis if she could help it for she found all of them fascinating. After a life spent reading stories in books it was refreshing to listen to stories right from people who had experiences similar to hers. But, there was one she returned to more often than not: Garrus Vakarian. He had taken to living in the gun battery, where he calibrated and then often recalibrated the guns. Shepard had once gone to ask him why, but on the way she realised it was probably for the same reasons that she kept to her schedules as though she were still in the Alliance. They were up against impossible odds, with very little they had control over. The outcome of the mission was in the air, they could all be dead tomorrow from a surprise Collector attack and none of them could say or do a thing against it. But, Garrus could have a say in how the guns worked – a small familiarity that offered him control over something, anything. And so, instead of asking him why he tinkered that day Shepard had asked him how he was doing. In doing so, she opened the barricades for many, many more heart-to-hearts that they shared.

Often, the old Normandy crew all went to the bar and ate there, reminiscing on their hunt for Saren and drawing on the friendships they had all made then. It was a small group, just her, Garrus, Tali, Chakwas and Joker but to Shepard it was enough of the familiar, enough as though they were still living in that pre-Collector world, in a world where she hadn't died, to comfort her and truly she began to feel as though the Normandy – this Normandy – could be home again.

More often still, after the rest of the old Normandy crew had departed, Garrus and Shepard stayed up and talked and talked, and talked, on and on into the long hours. Instead of putting politicians to rights, or discussing Citadel Security, they had found the conversations increasingly leaned into the personal, moreso than they had before. Family, pressures, their fears, hopes, ambitions. More often than not, they spoke over a bottle of something Asari or Quarian and their crew rations: the rest of the crew ate in the mess hall, but the two of them shared a bond deeper than just being pulled together by Cerberus. It was hard to gauge timeframes in space, where everything was dark and what might be daytime on one planet would be twilight on another but Shepard felt as though they often stayed up into the small-hours and just kept talking. These talks punctuated by the occasional silence, where the two of them found nothing to speak about and instead found comfort in the company of one another and a mutual quiet, where they didn't feel the need to chat and could just be.

In between the chaos and fear of the missions that lead them to increasingly dangerous situations Shepard cherished the time she spent with the old crew, and more than cherish the time she spent with Garrus. Sometimes, she sat on the counter watching him work on the guns in the way only a Turian could; sometimes she stood at the workbench and changed the settings of her pistol and spoke with a screwdriver in her mouth; sometimes they were at the bar, chatting away into the empty spaces; and other times still they sat in Shepard's cabin and played a few rounds of cards.

Shepard did this with everyone, of course, but in varying degrees: with Tali she discussed Quarian culture and singing; with Joker it was bitching about the Alliance, and Cerberus, and laughing as he bickered with EDI; Mordin offered her philosophical wisdom and advice from his uniquely Salarian perspective, and Shepard shot back with her human philosophies. With Jack she was simply trying to get through to a woman who was too cold, too distant, who needed to open up just as she had. Shepard couldn't help but feel she would have ended up like Jack, had she not signed up. It was not a pleasing thought. With Chakwas she shared a bottle and they spoke on their time in the Alliance, and of friends no longer with them, with frequent toasts. There was a lot to talk about and do in the down-time, in the long stretches between systems where it could take anything from one to six hours to travel. That was something the colonial pamphlets always missed out on. Space was empty, cold, and the time it took to travel was a lot longer than many anticipated. Sometimes she sat down in her room and shot off a message to Anderson, more than anything she valued those brief correspondences they shared and his words of support and belief in her.

But when everyone else was asleep it was the Turian she found herself seeking out. All she had to do was knock on his door and he would open, as though he had not been sleeping at all. That night she had gotten to bed unusually early but had awoken at GST 0:00, awakening to the image of being frozen, unable to help as Collectors seized her and her crew. More nightmares. That night she remembered Kelly Chambers' words some many months before, and decided that perhaps, it was time to take her up on the offer. She threw on her standard military clothes, brushed them down of the dirt of the day and made her way to the CIC. When she got there she found herself suddenly loathe to open up and expose herself in that way, and especially to someone she had barely spoken to, someone who worked for Cerberus no less: would she be reported to The Illusive Man, or Miranda, for this? But even more than that the shadowy thoughts that snuck into her head were more insidious, born of doubt and fear. Before everything else, she was supposed to be a leader, someone to look up to and aspire to; would this be a sign of weakness? A sign she, the standard everyone in the Alliance should hold themselves to, was flaking under the pressure. And what of her crew? If she wavered, would they lose hope? These thoughts flashed in her mind and she found herself having a circular argument in her head.

She had, unbeknownst to her, been leant against the wall outside the comms centre and talking out-loud to herself. Even less known to her, till he spoke, was the fact that Mordin had been watching.  
“Fascinating. Human stress response? Much different to stress response in other mammalian species. Talking to yourself- but why-? Ah! Verbal affirmations to oneself, a conversation without need to converse. Saving face.”  
Sara turned to him.   
“Dr Solus” she said, with a nod. The Salarian blinked at her then hesitated.  
“Perhaps Shepard, I would suggest my office if you do not feel ready to speak to the Yeoman. A familiar space, a familiar face, we have spoken before of spirituality but I am also a doctor before everything else. Perhaps I can help you.” she opened and closed her mouth a few times, then tossed her hand.  
“You know what Mordin? Sure.” the Salarian smiled, nodded, and ushered her through to his office-cum-room.

The room was clean and sterile like any doctors office should be, but this was Mordin and everywhere he went, he filled the very space with the essence of what made him Mordin – be it with his voice, his things, his humming. Papers strewn, boxes piled, vials steeping, biological samples sealed and then left on the table right next to his pistol and a few heat-sinks and an unfinished drink of something strong and Salarian. He walked ahead of her and pulled out a stool for her to sit on. Rather worryingly to her side she noticed a tank full of seeker swarms: nothing between them and the rest of the ship except for a thin layer of glass.  
“Uh, Mordin?”  
“Yes Commander?”  
“What happens if those seekers get out?” the Salarian cast a glance across at the tank and something akin to a frown furrowed his brow, and he raised a hand to his mouth. He was thinking.  
“Hm. Seeker swarm would immobilise everyone on the ship within a matter of minutes, including the pilot. Joker unable to drive vessel, we would crash. Or maybe EDI would take over and we would be fine, yes.”  
“Right.” was all Shepard said. He had, of course, not allayed her fears. The Salarian coughed curtly and Shepard remembered the reason she had accompanied the doctor back to his office.   
“Now, what seems to be the problem Shepard?” she licked her lips.   
“I've been getting nightmares.” the Salarian cocked his head and gazed at Shepard, blinking slowly. “I mean-” she continued “-I always had nightmares, I guess.” he still watched her, and she found herself at a loss for words. She fell silent, hands resting on her knees and fingers entwined and curled up. There was no noise from the Salarian for a while and indeed he stood still, then suddenly burst to life.   
“Nightmares, Shepard- usually an indicator of guilt or unrest. Not unexpected considering your service record. Akuze, Eden Prime, Virmire. Many soldiers with similar histories experience retrograde stress and associated maladies such as sleeplessness and depression. Tell me, have you been feeling depressed?” he blinked. She considered his question, then shook her head, and he beamed.  
“That I am glad to hear, Commander. This mission is inclined toward introspection and soul-searching – we are all going into the unknown, perhaps not coming back. Mortality brings out our fears, our doubts. I myself have been considering my legacy.” Shepard nodded. After months aboard the Normandy, she had still not gotten used to his wiry energy and relentlessness.   
“Away from everything you know, Shepard. This is your ship but not your crew. You went from being an Alliance hero to allying with a faction of ill repute- grief, perhaps?” he sharply turned his head and watched her reaction. She considered, then shook her head in response.  
“Isolation then? A good portion of this crew is not the crew you fought Saren with- you expressed a desire to track them down again, did you not? But The Illusive Man perhaps fears what would happen if you did. Mutiny or desertion at best, assassination at worst.” Now he was sifting through a drawer on his desk, finally he pulled a small tab of pills out and passed them in her direction.  
“Melatonin. Your history with alcohol and red sand- I don't want to prescribe you anything stronger, I'm sure you understand. Times of stress can-” he took a deep breath “-agitate addiction.” he smiled at her “I would not forgive myself if I gave you something you could harm yourself with. I am a doctor. Isolate and treat. Cruel to be kind.” Shepard nodded, and took the pills, thanking the doctor. He blinked.   
“Shepard” he continued “I understand the distrust of Cerberus; shady past, experiences on Akuze, history of wiping out colonies and illegal experimentation. Trust, trust can get you very far. Spent a good deal of my life looking over my shoulder, I would hate for you to – ah- do the same.” Sara smiled at him, thanked him.   
“I also noticed you and Garrus spend a lot of time drinking alone in the bar. Alcohol is a depressant, can exacerbate symptoms and feelings of loneliness and isolation.” he again paused to take a deep breath. “Ease up, maybe.” the Salarian paused again and arched his brow.   
“Also, I have pamphlets here if you need advice.”   
“Pamphlets?” and he passed her a few. Tactfully named 'Inter-species relationships and you: Turians'. It was brightly coloured and had cute, cartoonish figures. It might be something you hand out in a school.   
“Err, Mordin-?”  
“Oh, forgive me Shepard. Not my place, I simply noticed that you and Garrus spend a lot of time together- understandable, natural, considering the high stress of this mission. Normal to seek -solace- in another's arms. Inter-species relationships increasingly popular these days, natural part of galactic communal mixing.” he paused pensively. “That part of my life over now. I used to know a very nice-” he closed his eyes a moment, and smiled. “Shepard, be happy.”  
“I appreciate it Mordin but me and Garrus are strictly professional.” she handed the leaflet back, but he declined and pushed it on her.   
“Just in case, Shepard. You can never be too safe. I have a variety of appropriate lubricants and protective barriers here if you need.” she could swear he did this on purpose.   
“Thank you Mordin.” she said. She knew he was not keen on physical touch, so she just nodded in his direction as she left and went back upstairs. Just talking it through with someone had alleviated her churning mind and she found that she was able to fall back asleep with relative ease.

The next few days were taken up with more missions. But the conversation she had had with Mordin stuck in her mind. She kept thinking back to what Anderson said-: that she needed a partner, and now Mordin had read too much into the situation with her and Vakarian. Or had he? She would be lying to herself if she said she hadn't ever entertained the thought. Pointedly, she remembered the jealousy she had felt. She remembered the worry when Garrus had been shot. All their nightly conversations. It was true: she enjoyed his company more than she enjoyed any other. Still, she had one more person to discuss this with. 

“Joker take us to the Citadel, and inform Anderson I'll be visiting.”

A few hours later they were docking in at the Citadel and Shepard was throwing on civilian clothes and hurrying out. The whole crew had had shore leave, so Shepard expected to stick around for a little while. Anderson met her at the dock.  
“Thanks for this Anderson”  
“Its no problem Shepard- like I said, any time you need to talk I'm here.”  
“There anywhere to go and eat in Zakera?” Shepard asked. Anderson nodded and motioned for her to walk through the door, nodding at the security as he passed. Together they walked through the bustle of the lower wards, past a mix of aliens and humans and guards in indistinguishable armour. The life here reminded Shepard of back home. Always noise, always someone shouting or selling, the distant boom of club music, graffiti and the smells; fried foods, sweat, spices, cheap deodorant. Places like this, lives like this, was the reason she kept fighting on for the galaxy.

They both took a seat in the Zakera cafe; Anderson ordered a steak over medium with Tummy-Tingling Tuchanka sauce; Shepard opted for noodles with Asari sauce, and they both ordered a cold pint of Elcor Ale. Shepard was suddenly itching to talk her thoughts through with someone, and Anderson was the obvious choice. “Anderson-” she began, then sighed. “What do you think of inter-species relationships?” he raised an eyebrow but declined judgment.  
“Its crossed my mind sometimes. Back when Chora's Den was still open there was a girl there who had my attention for a while. Asari. Human mother.” he sighed. “But I presume the purpose of your visit was more than to remind a seasoned soldier of his lonely years?” Sara winced.   
“Sorry Anderson. I've just grown close with a crew-member recently.”  
“A crew member? That goes against most Alliance regulations, Shepard.” he saw her face fall, and added with a wry smile “but you're not technically Alliance anymore.”   
“He's a good man- a, a good alien, Anderson. One of the few who came back to me.” and Anderson nodded, and then laughed.   
“And I'm sure The Illusive Man would hate it if the bastion of humanity he put personal money into resurrecting turned around and wooed an alien.” Shepard hadn't even thought of that, and the realisation made her bark out a laugh.   
“Yeah I'd like to see his face.” She admitted.  
“So, this alien. Garrus Vakarian, right?”   
“How'd you guess?”  
“Well I had wondered. Joker likes to gossip Shepard.” She winced.   
“Yeah, I forgot that. Gonna have to have words with him.” but she meant it in jest, laughed with Anderson. Soon after, they parted ways with a kiss, Anderson patting her on the shoulder and wishing her well.   
“Pass on my best to Vakarian, too” he said. Shepard grinned.  
“Getting protective are we?”  
“Naturally, Shepard. I had you first!” she laughed, and waved him goodbye. 

On her way back Shepard dropped in to a few shops to buy things for the crew onboard the Normandy – brandy for Chakwas, better food for Gardener, a new silencer for Kasumi and some eyeliner for Miranda, boiled sweets for Joker- , a slight spring in her step.


	9. Militat Omnis Amans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus sends Shepard after an old friend and tensions rise between them as they disagree on how to go about the mission.

_“You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars”  
\- Thomas Traherne _

The talk with Anderson had allayed her fears and she had decided that if he proved interested, she would perhaps pursue a relationship with Garrus. Maybe something casual, maybe not. She hadn't decided yet, and she hadn't wanted to read too much into his actions- it could be a sign of interest, but just as equally it could be a sign that he was simply concerned, it could be a Turian thing that she didn't get. Her mind churned over and over with these thoughts, the possibilities, and to her embarrassment she did find herself pawing through the leaflets Mordin had given her. He had also emailed her a series of Turian romance novels. He definitely did this on purpose, she had surmised.  
Going through the leaflets had been a learning experience.   
“It can be dangerous to ingest Turian proteins- ingest? Why would I be ingesting?” she whispered to herself, then her eyes widened. “Oh. God, I'm really out of practice.”

Garrus had, as was customary, knocked on her door. Shepard quickly dispensed with the leaflets and tried to think of a way to explain the blush that glowed on her cheeks, clearing her throat as she opened the door. Garrus didn't seem to notice, which was a big relief to her. They agreed to drinks that night and she waved him off. Joker's voice crackled over the intercom.   
“Hey commander, Anderson emailed me.” he sounded smug, almost, and with a start Sara realised he knew. God damn it, was everyone but her gossiping?  
“Joker, I forbid you from gossiping with Anderson” came her mortified reply. She could practically see his grin.   
“Gossip? Me? There was no gossip. Just a confirmation.”   
“Joker-!”   
“OK, OK commander. I was just going to ask.” she rolled her eyes.  
“Yes, Joker?”  
“When you and Garrus go at it do you want me to pump through some mood music? I was thinking Careless Whisper or Yellow-” she cut him off with an exasperated sigh and made a mental note to send Anderson something sarcastic and loud. But still the ghost of a smile lingered on her lips. EDI's voice interrupted her thoughts.   
“Shepard – if you are looking for mood music, I am aware of some Turian favourites. Marching Beat of my Heart topped the charts this year.” Shepard swore. If machines could sound sarcastic EDI had mastered it; still she knew that the AI and Joker now got on and they had probably put one another up to it, which was preferable to their constant bickering, which she was always having to mediate.  
“EDI, so help me I will reprogramme you.”  
“I don't think Mr Moreau would approve of that, Shepard.”  
“Hm. Remind me to mock him relentlessly if he ever gets out of that chair to get a girlfriend.”  
“Why does he have to leave the chair, Shepard?”

The commander went to check in on Chakwas. Damage control. She was going to find out just how many people knew. In such close quarters gossip was inevitable and she remembered, with a slight pang, the rumours that had followed her and Kaiden. It was easy to postulate and infer, when everyone on the ship was never more than fifty metres away from one another. People talked, it was a part of spacer life. Sara popped her head around the door to Chakwas' lab. The elderly woman turned to her and if she knew, her speech showed no hint of such.   
“What can I do for you commander?”  
“Oh, nothing Chakwas. I was just dropping by to see if you needed anything.”  
as Chakwas finished her sentence she was unable to hold in the laughter that she had concealed so well, and shrieked out a laugh.   
“Well commander, I have no need of you right now. I hear a certain Mr Vakarian might well though.” Shepard hid her face behind her palm, groaning loudly. Behind her she was sure she hear sniggers.  
“I'm sorry Shepard” the doctor added, sounding genuinely apologetic “you know how the crews talk. Rumours spread fast. I couldn't resist- but, truly, I feel its a good fit. Just remember not to imbibe.”  
“Imbibe, doctor?”  
“Well Shepard you know how these things go.” at that, Shepard's eyes widened – and Chakwas snapped back to her professional demeanour, as though she had not said anything positively blush-inducing.  
“I had no idea you were so filthy, doctor” Shepard shot back.   
“I wasn't always the demure elderly woman you see in front of you commander. I'm sure I've stories that could curl your hair!” Chakwas sent her off with a wave. Before she left, Shepard remembered the question she had come to ask Chakwas; who was, of course, the first port of call for many of the crew, as chief medical officer.   
“Hey doctor. How many people have been gossiping?”  
“Oh, most of the crew, Shepard. Apparently the consensus is that Vakarian has been hinting for months and you've been oblivous.”  
“Oh. Good.”  
“Have fun Shepard.”  
She patted the doorframe as she left. The first thought in her mind was “should I change my clothes?”; the second was “into what?” and the third, that crept in a lot quieter but persistent nonetheless was “shit, Sara, you're bad at this.” She resolved that she wasn't going to make a fuss. If she did the crew might talk more than they were already.

Garrus was already at the bar when she walked in, sat at a stool with his back to her. He seemed lost in thought staring at the opposite wall, so Shepard cleared her throat as she entered and he turned halfway to look at her, his face a crescent silhouette framed by scar tissue and blue tattoo. She saw his mouth shift, as though he wanted to speak but was unsure what to say.  
“What's eating you Garrus?” he motioned for her to sit, so she did, and thinking back to Mordin's words declined a drink from him. She could see that he had already been drinking alone a while, judging by the shot glasses littering the counter-top.   
“Commander, you remember when we had that chat about my squad? And how they all died. Or, well, we got set up.” Shepard nodded.  
“Of course.” was all she said, sensing that he wanted to keep talking for a while. He went to pour himself another drink and without thinking, she put her hand on his and pulled him back gently – whilst he did not yet stink of alcohol, it would not take him much longer to get drunk and whatever mood he was in wouldn't be helped by booze. He glanced at her out of the side of his eye, and moved his hand to his lap with an irritated chirp.  
“Well, the bastard finally showed his face. He's looking for safe passage off the Citadel, going to the Far Rim. If we don't go and get him we've lost him. I won't let that happen, I can't. My squad deserve better.” he spoke with fervor, one that was familiar to Shepard for it was the exact way she felt about her crew aboard the Normandy. She nodded.  
“We can go first thing” she whispered. “What do you plan to do with him Garrus?”  
“I'm going to shoot the bastard. Right between the eyes.”  
“Where do I come into this?”  
“You, Shepard, you're gonna distract him so I can line up the shot.” she could see how much this meant to him, so she didn't bother arguing with him right this minute. But, she couldn't just-  
“Garrus is this the best idea? I know you're angry. First thing I wanted to do when I saw Saren was clock him one for Kaiden but-”   
“Shepard this is different.”  
“How, how is it different?”  
“My whole squad, commander. Everyone. They had families. Children. Sidonis deserves worse than a clean death.” Shepard sighed heavily.  
“Just think it over Garrus. I'll see you in the morning.” and she slid off the stool and walked out. As she did, Garrus turned his head as if to say something. She paused, turned to him, but he waved his hand and said nothing and let her walk away.

The night passed too quickly and it wasn't long before she was in a shuttle with Garrus, inbound to the Citadel. That morning he had had a dark look in his eye, one she had not seen in his eye since they went to take down Saleon, and it was not the Garrus she knew. Sure he joked and jeered when he scored a good shot but above all he was fair, and if anything he was passionate, cared too much for his own good. Took every loss to heart. He seemed to be in a dark mood, crouched over with his rifle balanced against his feet and eyes cast down at the steel floor of the shuttle without so much as a word to Shepard as she climbed in. They'd found Harkin and Garrus had gotten violent in ways Shepard had not seen him before- angry, wild, and she had stopped him from doing anything worse than a compound fracture. Garrus had glanced at her in a way that suggested he was almost about to shout at her, but instead he sighed and shoved Harkin away, jaw shifting angrily. In any case, Harkin had given them what they needed and she warned him to get offworld in her most threatening voice. She wasn't sure what to say so she just drove to the meeting point and let her Turian friend think this through and hooked herself up to his comm system as she pulled up to a good vantage point. He climbed out, nodded to her as he exited but said nothing more and she drove off to find this Turian, this Sidonis.

He was sat on a plastic-covered seat in the foyer of the transport hub clearly waiting for his shuttle out of here. The way he moved, twitchy and constantly looking around him, suggested that he knew something was up. Harkin was hardly a person of repute even in criminal organisations it seemed. She buzzed through to Garrus.  
“Right, I've got him in my sights. Are you sure this is what you want?”  
“Positive, Shepard.” it was clear he wasn't in the mood for conversation today so she stepped forward and waved at Sidonis. With a second thought, she unhooked her comm link for a moment and approached the thug.   
“Sidonis?” she called. He turned sharply toward her.  
“You're not Fade.” was the first accusation out of his mouth. She raised her hands.   
“Hold up. I'm here with someone you know. Garrus Vakarian.”  
“Shit, he here?” Sidonis looked around panicked, eyes twitching and looking as though he might be ready to run.  
“Sidonis, you're gonna have to trust me here. I'm going to try and talk him down.” and as she said that, she hooked up her comm link again. Garrus was talking into it.   
“Shepard move, I'll have a clear shot if you move. Left a little.”  
“Garrus, no.”   
“Shepard-”  
“Garrus, remember Fist? Saleon? Saren-”  
“Shepard, move!” he sounded impatient, his voice rising. Sidonis was watching the two of them looking wholly unsure as to whether he wanted to run or not. Shepard raised her hand, stilling him, though he watched her carefully.   
“Garrus, think a minute. This isn't you. You get so caught up in pride and loyalty that you forget what these words mean. Your squad knew the risks when they signed on. Their deaths aren't on your conscious, they're on the people who pulled the trigger. It isn't your fault.” the words she spoke were words she wished someone would have spoken to her when Kaiden died. She hoped it would be enough.   
“They were my squad and they trusted me Shepard. I let them down.”  
“You let nobody down. Damnit Garrus, if anyone knows this its me.” the line went silent at this and Sidonis stared at the human woman. Then, the Turian opposite her spoke.  
“Garrus, you there man?”   
“Sidonis.” his only reply.  
“Garrus, the Blue Suns had me at gunpoint. If I didn't lure you away they'd have pulled the damn trigger.”  
“Better one life than twelve Sidonis” Garrus said through the mouth-piece, still, he sounded calmer than he had those few moments ago.  
“If they'd shot me they would have gotten to you too. At least this way you got out.” Shepard took the pause to join in.  
“Listen to me Garrus – all those mercs and thugs, they deserved what was coming to them, I'd be the first to admit that. But Sidonis here? He regrets his actions, don't you Sidonis?” the Turian nodded furiously, then spoke again.  
“I can't sleep without thinking of their faces. They were my squad too. Please just let me go. I'm sorry man.”   
“See, Garrus? Stand down, you're better than this. Remember, he had a choice. So do you, you can choose to walk away.” across the comms came the crackle of static that came when someone sighed. Sidonis had sat down and Shepard carefully shifted so that she was in the way of the sights once again, putting herself between him and the bullet.   
“You're not a murderer Garrus. If you do this you're no better than Sidonis.”  
“You're right Shepard. Of course you're right. He can go.” his voice was quiet, pensive. Shepard waved Sidonis away and he whispered a quick thank-you at her before hurrying away, but not in the direction she had expected – he was going towards C-Sec. She turned around and walked back to the shuttle, driving to pick Garrus up. He got in without a word, rifle still in his hands the whole way back. He spent a good deal of the journey staring at his hands.

Back on the Normandy Shepard barely got a word in before he strode off back to the gun battery, and as they got in Joker raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She waited till Garrus was out of earshot then walked over.  
“Geeze commander, you really do need to practice your flirting.”   
“No, Joker, I just talked him out of shooting a man.”  
“Geeze, I thought that stick up his ass was gone?” she smirked at that and patted the back of his chair as she walked away back to her room, dropping off her gear in the armoury and looking forward to getting a nap in. They were still en-route to Ilium, their next stop. The commander had just walked into her room and was in the process of taking off her shoes when Garrus strode in without so much as knocking. She stood up with a start. She had not heard the elevator. Part of her worried that Garrus was going to start an argument, that this would come between them and she would never get the chance to confess- tensions and feelings both were high and, inexperienced as she was, she knew better than to discuss such things right after talking down a sniper. 

Then Garrus went straight toward her and she didn't know what to expect, heart going faster than she would have liked to admit. Then he did something she had not expected. He raised his hand to her face, touching her cheek tenderly. He leaned in close, eyes closing. Shepard put her hand to his, stroking his wrist with her thumb and holding his hand in place. Eventually, he opened his eyes and his voice came out as nothing more than a soft whisper.   
“Thank you.”  
She ushered him over to the bed and sat herself. He sat next to her.  
“Wanna talk about it?” the Turian hesitated, then nodded.  
“They were my squad.” was all he said, simply.   
“I know.”  
“And they all died.”  
“I know.”  
“Its my fault, I should have seen it coming.”  
“I know.”  
“Also, I'm falling for you and I don't know what to do about it.”  
“I kn- wait what?” her brow furrowed and she looked at Garrus for any sign that he was tricking her, or joking, but she could see none. The Turian only gazed at her and it was then she realised his hand was on hers, atop the sheet. Suddenly she found herself blushing and pulled her hand away.   
“I think we need to talk this through step by step.” she said carefully. Garrus nodded.   
“It isn't your fault your squad died.” was the first thing she said, and then Anderson's words on Akuze came to her and she found herself echoing them “we're soldiers, and sometimes soldiers die. We all know that when we sign up. Your group knew that when they signed up. Mercs are ruthless at the best of times.” Garrus nodded at her words. “They all died, and of course you blame yourself. But sometimes you can only do so much. Don't weigh yourself down with guilt.” the Turian blinked at her and sighed.  
“I know, Shepard.” his voice was soft, and sad. “Its just that every time I've wanted vengeance you've shown me a different path. Fist, Saleon, even Saren. I wanted to gun them down and you talked me out of it every time. Now with Sidonis, I just-” he paused, jaw shifting. “I wonder if I'm a bad person really. If I just cover it up with justifications.” at that statement Shepard shook her head fiercely.  
“A bit rash, maybe” she admitted “but not a bad person. You care too much, you get so caught up in your emotions that you forget to think rationally.”  
“Shepard three deaths would be on my conscious if not for you.” he responded.   
“Do you know how many are on mine?” she said. “I can recite their names if you want. I remember them all.” the Turian shook his head. His hand was still on hers.   
“It isn't your fault Garrus. It isn't the fault of anybody except Sidonis and the mercs who pulled the trigger. They were your squad, not your lives.” she said. Together they were quiet for a bit and Garrus turned to her a few times, as though he wanted to say something. His jawline flared, and he chattered but said nothing. Shepard herself stayed quiet, but their hands stayed connected on the bed. If she hadn't known any better she would have said the Turian was warmer than usual.

Suddenly her comms crackled to life and Joker's voice blared out.  
“Would you two hurry it up? I got Anderson waiting on updates here.” Shepard frowned and looked up at the ceiling, shouting out loud as Garrus jumped up.  
“Have you been listening in Joker?”  
“Only a little” came the reproachful reply. “Do I need to start up the mood music?”  
“Mood music Shepard? What's he on about-?” Shepard sunk her face into her hands and groaned loudly.  
“Joker we were having a serious conversation!” she shouted up at the ceiling.   
“Excuses excuses Commander.” came his response but she heard the familiar click of the comms system being turned off and turned to Garrus.   
“Shepard why are your cheeks so red, are you OK?” and the commander said the first thing that came to mind.  
“The pamphlets say I'm not supposed to imbibe.” it was out before she could stop it and she automatically clasped her hands to her mouth. The Turian's mouthpiece flared with the beginnings of a laugh but he managed to turn it into a spluttering cough.   
“Do you want to repeat that, Shepard?” he said, obscuring a smirk beneath his words.   
“What I meant to say was, uh.” she ran a hand over her hair, messing with her bun in the way she always did when she was nervous. Then she cleared her throat. “So, Garrus. You said you were falling for me?” the Turian took that moment to look away and cough again, out of embarrassment more than laughter this time.   
“Yes, commander. I believe I was. Am.” and she turned her head to the side, watching his reaction. She took a step forward, and then another, closing the distance between her and Garrus. When she was close enough she mirrored his earlier gesture. She reached out and pressed her hand to his cheek, stepping closer and pressing her forehead to his chest. She stood there a few minutes, enjoying the peace of the hum of the machines and the gentle breathing of the Turian till it filled her world and nothing existed but them and that space. 

At least until an incredibly loud “Oh Yeah!” blared across her comms, followed by a snigger from Joker. She banged her head against Garrus' chest.  
“Fucks sake” was all she said, but she laughed despite the situation and she could hear the Turian laughing too. It was a great weight off her chest to know how he felt and to know that her feelings were reciprocated


	10. Amore Nihil Mollius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After helping Kasumi out, Shepard and Garrus meet.

_“The human heart is as a frail craft on which we wish to reach the stars.” - Giotto_  
After their mutual confession, neither Shepard nor Garrus had had much time to spend together: their mission had to come first, naturally, and so they were both holed up in their respective quarters getting on with the work that needed doing. They'd agreed to disrupt the crew as little as possible, although rumours did fly and Shepard got a few curious glances – and a few disparaging ones-. At one point, Kelly Chambers approached Shepard practically squealing. When Sara raised an eyebrow, crossed her arms and turned to the yeoman the other woman clutched her hands together.   
“You and Garrus are a couple?” Shepard put up a hand to stop her.   
“Hold it, yeoman. We're nothing, yet. I don't think.” the woman didn't deflate at this, just said-;  
“you two are so cute together!”  
Shepard couldn't help but smile, roll her eyes and shake her head.   
“Back to work Kelly.” she had said. The yeoman saluted and turned away, beaming. 

Still, neither of them particularly got to spend time together like they had been, except for on missions when they were too busy being shot at to really talk. The mission was nearing its end and thusly, tensions were rising amidst the whole crew. Shepard was busy in discussions with Miranda, Jacob and the Illusive Man. Garrus, running military simulations in tandem with EDI and trying again and again, to tune up the guns. Shepard had to admit, she almost missed the Turian: she had gotten so used to his presence at niht, continual as it was at her side, that to suddenly have been split from the crewmember who had accompanied her on every mission left her feeling like she had lost an arm. There was no time for card games with Garrus and Tali like there had been; no philosophical debates with Mordin; no trying to unravel all that Jack was. Just Collectors, mercs and an empty cabin at the end of the night. Shepard was beginning to appreciate just how daunting maintaining friendships -and relationships- were in space: when confronted with the vast nothingness, as Samara put it, it was easy to feel insignificant. The galaxy was bigger than just her and her feelings. She was fighting for the galaxy, and now, she found herself realising for Garrus too. Not just him, though – for Anderson and Ash and Joker, for Tali and Liara and Mordin, for all the wonderful variety and culture that the Milky Way was. 

Still, despite that, she missed the Turian. 

Shepard awoke that morning to an unfamiliar sight in her room. On her bedside table in a beautiful pot, was a woody-stemmed flowering plant, blooming with tiny star-shaped blue flowers in varying shades of blue – azure, cerulean, periwinkle. Pinned to the pot was a note written in a hand she didn't recognise.   
“The Tenia flower is representative of resistance on Palaven.”  
the words enough let her know that it was Garrus who had sent her the plant and just knowing that, and knowing that he was thinking of her enough to have bought her a gift, brought a wide smile to her face. It was nice to know she was being thought of, even as they were apart because of duty. She lifted a bloom with her fingers and inspected it for a moment, then stood up and went to her terminal. Kasumi decloaked as she stood up and Shepard jumped. 

“Kasumi how long have you been there?”  
“Long enough to know you sleep like a log, Shep.” the thief said, eyes glimmering and mouth twisted into a smile. Shepard sighed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.   
“Alright, what is it?” she asked. Kasumi clapped her hands together.  
“Remember that favour I asked of you when I joined up, Shepard? That unfinished business?” the commander nodded and turned to Kasumi as she buttoned up her trousers.  
“Its time to cash-in” was all the thief said. Then she tossed a strange, leathery garment at Shepard and said “oh and you'll need to put that on.”

An hour later the pair were on a shuttle inbound to the Hock estate. The dress Kasumi had given Shepard was tight and not very good for moving in. The commander voiced these concerns.  
“Kasumi if there's a gunfight I'm going to be useless. This dress is a tactical nightmare.” the thief tittered and waved a hand dismissively.   
“You look great Shepard!” was all she said.  
“I look good, sure, but what if I need to shoot a guy? I can't shoot in this!”  
“Ah Shep, look at it like a challenge! Mix up a little.” the commander huffed and wondered how on Earth she had gotten roped into this mission, when they were so close to getting the Collectors. She pinched at the fabric on her thigh and winced.   
“Its so tight!” she continued, not letting this drop. Kasumi giggled.   
“Its supposed to be tight, Shepard!” then the thief angled her gaze to the commander's face.   
“Take your hair down Shep, this is a party not a business meeting!” and the thief reached forward and tugged Shepard's bun out before Sara could bat her hand away or voice a protestation. Her dark hair tumbled down her face and back in waves and curlicues, and the thief pocketed her hair-band and leaned back with a thumbs up.  
“There, much better!” she grinned.   
“Kasumi-” Shepard began, clutching at her hair and holding it up. Kasumi tittered again.  
“Shepard, who goes to a party with a bun? Honestly. Are you a woman in her prime or not?” the commander frowned at this, then sighed and relented and messed her hair up so that it was to her satisfaction; swept up and about, framing her face as much as it accentuated her cheekbones. She had forgotten just how long her hair was. Hadn't had it out in so long.  
“You can have it back after the mission.” Kasumi patted her pocket and Shepard knew there was no way she would pickpocket a thief. Her shoulders sunk as she lay back.  
“Better hope I don't need to shoot anyone then. Can't see with all this hair.”  
“Relax. It'll all go according to plan.”

It did not go according to plan. Sara Shepard did not get much time to muse on this, nor time to cuss out Kasumi, in the ensuing chaos. She was too busy dodging rockets from mechs and troopers. One thing she got out of this, though, was that Donovan Hock was a cocky bastard. She would enjoy punching him. Still, the mission was a success, and the commander wouldn't cry over a few extra dead mercs in the galaxy. Might pop a bottle with Garrus, though, she couldn't help but think to herself as she aimed and took a shot at a Salarian engineer who was trying to repair a mech she and Kasumi had downed. 

It was Kasumi who took the final shot against Hock and his gunship tumbled down in a fiery blaze, a man-made meteor tumbling to the surface of the planet they found themselves on. Kasumi punched the air as she turned to Shepard with a grin and the two of them ran back to the shuttle. Kasumi was eager to be with her memories. 

“Keiji meant a lot to you, didn't he Kasumi?” Shepard said softly, gazing at the thief. The thief nodded.   
“This is all I've got left of him” was all she said, tapping the greybox that was now plugged into her commset in the side of her head. She was reaching out into the empty air infront of her, across Shepard's eyeline, as though flitting through files. Occasionally, she went very still and very quiet, frozen in space as though concentrating on something. Shepard reached forward after a few minutes and patted Kasumi on the knee.   
“Kasumi-” she began. Kasumi put a hand up to silence her.   
“I don't need your lectures, Shep.” was all she said. “I know what I want. I want these memories, with him.” the commander went quiet and didn't know quite how she wanted to continue, so instead, she didn't. Kasumi kept reaching out and freezing, occasionally she stroked the air as if stroking a face, or smiled wide and proud in a way Shep had not seen her smile before. A large part of Shepard wondered if it had been the right decision, helping the thief to reclaim this greybox- would she stay hung up in the past, too caught up on old memories to live her life? Would there not be other loves, other people? But, she kept quiet. Perhaps, this was a period of mourning and she would recover fine, and live her life. Perhaps not. She seemed happy either way. 

After a period of silence in the shuttle Kasumi finally straightened up and turned to Shepard. For a while, she was quiet and distant, eyes avoiding the commanders and staring out the window to the side instead. Then, quietly, she spoke.   
“Shep.” she began. “Be happy with Garrus, whatever time you have together, make the most of it.” and then she went quiet again and Shepard knew she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Thankfully the Normandy was in sight now and the wait was not long. Before she got off the shuttle, Kasumi tapped her shoulder and deposited the hair-band into her open palm with a smirk.  
“Keep it down, maybe. I'm sure Garrus would thank me.” Sara smiled softly and wished her goodnight as they parted- Kasumi back to her haunt in the deck and Shepard to her room. She flicked the hairband between her fingers deftly, considering Kasumi's words. Perhaps tonight she would invite Garrus up, perhaps they could catch up over a bottle of Volus red and some nice music. 

As her door clicked open she was greeted to the sight of Garrus sat at her desk, his hands in his lap, fingers nervously twitching. The second time today she had an unexpected guest let themselves into her room. Mentally she made a note to rejig her security protocols but not tonight. Her hand went to her hair and she pulled it up into a ponytail, intending to fasten her bun back in place. Garrus spoke.

“Keep your hair down?” he asked her. Shepard hesitated in her movement and the Turian stood up, made towards her.   
“Turians' don't have hair” he explained “its. Weird.” and the Commander couldn't help but stifle a snicker at that.   
“Any more compliments, hot shot?” she replied, taking a step towards Garrus. His mandibles splayed a moment as he thought.   
“Your legs are very springy. And your waist is very supportive.”   
“Does this count as wooing in Turian society?” Sara smirked, crossing her arms. Garrus shifted uncomfortably.  
“Crap.” he said. “I'm not very good at this, am I?” he almost laughed but stopped as Shepard's hand came up to his shoulder, stroked against his neck.   
“Relax Garrus.” was all Shepard said. 

Garrus brushed Shepard's hair out of her eyes and behind her ear, gazing at her in a way she had never been looked at before – like she was an object of wonder, of desire, something strong and beautiful and fearful. Gazing at her in a way and with an understanding that was uniquely Turian. Neither of them spoke but her hand was at his cheek, thumb pressed against his cheekbones, running along the markings on his face and he closed his eyes at the sensation, leaned into her palm. Suddenly, he spoke.   
“We could just run away from all of this Shepard” he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead to hers, hand dropping to his side. She reached for him, squeezed, and allowed him this brief moment of fantasy; they were both soldiers, they both knew how this had to be. He pulled his hand away from hers and pointed up at the skylight, towards the stars and ever-present night. No planets to light up the horizon, just darkness and vacuum.  
“Imagine it. We just ran away, far from the Terminus systems. To a place where nobody knew our names.” she sniffed but couldn't deny the smile that tugged at her lips even now.   
“What would we do there, bad boy?” she said back, turning to face where he was pointing. Outside all was black and dark, stars like pointillism in the sky.  
“We'd be mercenaries” he continued as though that were obvious. “Cleaning the trash out of the galaxy.” Shepard smiled again, made a pistol with her fingers and fired at the window.  
“The heroic Archangel with his warrior queen Siha” the Turian paused at that-  
“Siha?” he asked her.  
“Thane called me it once. I thought it was nice.” she shrugged. He smiled and nodded.   
“Archangel and Siha, I like that. Yeah.” Shepard laid her head against Garrus' shoulder, her hand in his and her hip pressed to his gently.  
“Its tempting, I'll admit.” she whispered. Garrus shifted beside her.   
“Let's do it then Shepard” he said, all too eagerly.   
“Garrus-” she began. Softly, apologetically. He sighed and shook his head, looked away.  
“I know Shepard, I know.” and he didn't say what he knew, but they both knew.  
“We have to stop the Collectors” she whispered “and then the Reapers.” he nodded, but fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with sadness.  
“I just wanted- just once- something to go right. I've messed up so many times. C-Sec, Saleon, Sidonis.” he stopped talking and walked away from Shepard, gaze dropped to the floor. He spoke again, but there was a waver in his tone and he spoke quietly. “I can't lose you Shepard.” he admitted, turning to her. There was an earnest look in his eye, an openness that she had not seen in his glance before. She walked over to him, pressed her lips to the side of his face.  
“I'm not going anywhere.” she whispered. “Stay with me tonight?” and he nodded, hand coming to her waist. She leaned into his touch and reciprocated- her hand coming up to his face she stroked his jaw and then leaned up to kiss him gently, softly.


	11. Nihil Violentius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final assault on the Collector base.

_“Mortal as I am, I know that I am born for a day. But when I follow at my pleasure the serried multitude of the stars in their circular course, my feet no longer touch the earth.” - Ptolemy_

They had come back from a mission to find the Collectors had boarded whilst they were away. The Normandy was too quiet - computers hummed, yes, and monitors clacked and messages pinged and the ship was very much alive. But without her crew the Normandy felt empty, lifeless. The people were the lifeblood of the ship and they were gone, replaced by a stillness that Shepard couldn't fill alone. 

They had made this personal. It was time to take the fight to them, show them what happened when you pissed off Commander Shepard Alliance Vanguard, N7 graduate, Cerberus Rebel, the only human to die and be resurrected. The vengeance of a single woman would be great. 

“Take us in Joker” was all she said as she leaned over his chair, watching the view from the cockpit window of the Omega Four relay. It loomed, some great sleeping Leviathan in space ready to take them forward or cast them down into obscurity and shadow. The Normandy's computers flashed red and orange as it connected to the relay and charged up a jump and Shepard braced herself for the inevitable jerk that would come when the drive core connected. Behind her Garrus walked up, put a hand to her waist and whispered.  
“Be safe Shepard.” she turned, patted his chest and smiled reassuringly. Then he went to join the rest of the squad on the shuttle and she turned away from Joker to check everyone was in place. 

And then the Normandy was launched through the relay in a familiar blue flash that blurred the whole ship and launched them thousands upon thousands of light years away into the unknown. The view that greeted Shepard once the ship juddered to a halt, was spectacular and awe-inspiring and terrifying and humbling; a debry field unlike any she had seen ever before, littered with ships and rock and satellites and bits of unfamiliar and familiar technology. The sky was lit up in an umber of orange and red and gold and pink and yellow, and colours that Shepard couldn't even name and there – on the horizon- lay the Collector base, and homeworld. A vast eye in the sky that watched the Normandy, that watched her. 

A tense navigation of the field later and they had crashed into the side of the base, Joker swearing as he crunched forward in his chair.  
“Well Commander, if I hadn't broken anything before I think I have now” he said, rubbing his chest and wincing as he pushed at buttons on the control console to assess the damage. Luckily, the damage was minimal. Shields had absorbed most of the impact, and all that was needed was a restart of their system and a manual thruster shift. Child's play for the pilot and his newly unshackled AI. Shepard wished the two of them goodbye and called her squad out of their shuttle, directing them to the comms room so that they could discuss tactics. 

Minutes passed, and a plan emerged. Miranda would lead the charge of the second team and a second team headed by Zaaed would head the rescue team dedicated to recovering survivors and their crew, if they could. And so they began. 

Sara launched herself over the barricade and tumbled into two collectors. Garrus took out one to her left and the other she slammed down with a biotic pull, wiped at her bloody nose and ducked, the way cleared. Grunt charged ahead and body-slammed into Collectors, reveling in the broken carapaces and squeals from the creatures. Discharging a shotgun into ones' head, he chuckled deep and loud and low and Shepard couldn't help but grin in response. They had this, they definitely had this. She pushed onward, holding up her omni-tool so that she could clear the valve, allowing Legion to climb through further. Then she crouched and began taking shots, timing them so that when the Collectors came up to shoot, she was there right away to shoot back. Harbinger joined the field occasionally, and he was always sent packing by a collection of her, Garrus' and Grunt's powers and weapons. His voice chilled her even now. 

Samara held up the biotic shield well against the Collector swarms as her team made slow progress through the room, stopping to shoot Collectors and husks, to duck behind cover and lean out to take shots, bellow orders, and charge and charge and move. The final charge toward the door, and cover, was immense and agonising. Shepard turned to fire a rally of shots at the Collectors that followed her, all firing their own shots, and rolled into the base as the door slammed shut behind her. 

Beyond lay the final sanctum and their destination. Joker had crackled through on comms and told her that their crew was OK, alive and on the Normandy along with Zaaed, Kasumi and Jack. The rest remained here with Shepard. She turned to them, fists clenched.   
“Garrus and Mordin with me. The rest of you hold here.” she bit back the temptation to say 'hold the line!' with a small smile at Mordin, who smiled back and nodded sharply. Garrus was readjusting his sights behind her, focused on twisting the eyeline so that it was perfectly calibrated and in front of her stood the rest of her crew.   
“We'll be back soon as possible. Then we blow this place to kingdom come.” she said, and everyone in her group nodded, filled with admiration and pride, as they shifted and moved to the best cover. Thane behind the door; Jacob behind a barricade directly covering the rest of the crew; Samara and Miranda crouched side-by-side, ready to thrust biotics at anyone who dared enter. The rest of her crew all dotted around the room as Shepard turned away, facing Mordin and Garrus with a hard smile.   
“Come on you two.” was all she said, not letting her voice betray the fear she felt inside, deep inside, squirming like Pyjak on worms. 

Four shots and the Reaper fell. Its cries echoing and reverberating around the chamber, a great cacophonous screech that filled her ears for a moment. Then, a thud as the platform she stood on collapsed. Shepard pushed Mordin up and out of the way but behind her, Garrus stumbled on unsteady feet as he tried to get his bearing and run up the swiftly crumbling platform. Mordin rolled out of harm's way and hung his hand down, ready for either of them to jump up and grab if they needed. Garrus had gotten his footing and was leaping up the rubble deftly, and with a jump he joined Mordin. Now it was clear her friends had gotten out of harms way Shepard leapt up, grabbed Garrus' hand and was pulled up by the Turian, who patted her shoulder and slunk his hand to her waist as they made to walk out. Support, and solidarity in one. 

Behind them, the centre of the Collector base exploded. 

Back on the Normandy Shepard hung up on The Illusive Man, only to have Hackett call her up almost immediately and demand she clean up another Alliance mess. She whispered a quick goodbye to Garrus, sure she would be back in no time to celebrate the victory.


	12. Absens In Remota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reapers have hit Earth, and Shepard hasn't heard from Garrus.

_“Before we devised artificial lights and atmospheric pollution and modern forms of nocturnal entertainment we watched the stars.” - Carl Sagan_

Garrus turned to her and pulled her close into a hug. As she touched him, his flesh set alight where her fingers lay. Flames set in, and the Turian known as Garrus Vakarian burned in front of her. Screaming and falling to his knees, as hot flame licked him up and down, a supernova in a suit of armour. When he shouted, the only sound that came out was the echoed utterance of the Protheans from Ilos: “cannot be stopped”.

Sara Shepard rolled over as she woke up in Vancouver. Another nightmare. She pushed her fringe from her sweaty forehead and let out a sigh. They'd been coming more and more, the longer she stayed on Earth, brought on undoubtedly by the stress and guilt. Not one day went by she wasn't terrified of waking up to a Reaper invasion- and here she was, a mandatory grounding that left her and every damn human colony in space undefended and unprepared. Not one day went by that she didn't regret throwing the Relay onto the Batarian colony – the blood of thousands was on her hands before this war had even begun. But, the Reapers were coming and nobody was listening to her. Adding to that was another pressing issue, one more of heart than mind; Garrus hadn't been in touch. She had left in a hurry and barely gotten to say goodbye, and then she had been whisked away to shore leave and unable to message him. But he hadn't tried to get in touch with her, either. Nor had any of her old crew, really. She'd hoped the Turian would at least message her, but there had been nothing. No notes, no vidcoms, no emails. Just silence. She'd gotten so used to his constant presence, his shrewd words and their mutual competitions that being here, alone on a planet she wasn't sure she could call home any longer, hurt more than it perhaps should have. She rolled over in bed a moment, groaning into her pillow. 

She didn't believe their tryst had been a mistake. She found herself thinking of Garrus far too often and often, with those thoughts, came the glancing worry that he wanted nothing more to do with her: he had said she was the first human he had ever been interested in. Was she just an experiment? She felt like a schoolgirl, not the veteran commander she was supposed to be. And, after all, he was high-up in the Turian hierarchy. He couldn't be seen fraternising with a human war criminal. Sara screwed her eyes shut a moment before a rap on the door set her tumbling out of bed, hitting the floor with her palms and knees, she scrambled up and threw on her uniform from the day before. The past few weeks she had been filing, writing up reports on Cerberus activity during her time on-board, re-passing Alliance aptitude tests and explaining to various politicians the reasons for her destruction of a Batarian colony; as well as avoiding press and any possible Batarian hitmen who were undoubtedly after her. Honour and vengeance were paramount in their culture. There had been little time to herself and Anderson had been distant too; perhaps to show that he was not showing favour to her as his protege. She wanted a hug, though. And a stiff drink. 

It was Anderson himself who had rapped on the door, she approached buttoning up her shirt and propping the door with her foot. She saluted him and he her.   
“Shepard, we've gotta go speak to the council. Something's come up.” Shepard could hear the doubt in his voice, the confusion and worry.  
“Reapers?”  
“Its too early to say. We've lost contact with some of our colonies.”  
Shepard stopped walking and reached out to Anderson's arm, pulling him back so that she could look him in the eye sternly. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair and turned to her, met her gaze a moment before looking away. Guilt, perhaps.   
“We're not damn prepared, Anderson.” she said.   
“I know, Shepard.”  
“Why didn't they listen?”  
“Shepard, its not fair to ask that. You killed hundreds of thousands.”  
“To stop the Reapers!” she said, with an angry flash. He sighed again.   
“I know, Shepard. I'd defend you to the moon and back, you know that.” and she paused, hesitant, and closed her eyes resignedly. She knew that, she was just taking it out on Anderson. She took a deep breath and balled her fists at her side, pinching her nails into her palm as she breathed slow and steady – out of fear, anger, stress. Anderson watched her all the while and then took a step towards her, reaching his hand out to her shoulder. His touch was enough to make her open her eyes, and she met his gaze and saw the concern and fatherly affection she had so depended on all these years.   
“We knew this day was coming, Shepard.” he said, and turned away again. “Come on, this way.” and she followed in his stead, weaving through the crowds that now swarmed – she could hear alerts going off, messages sending, people talking. Something was definitely up. Her senses were suddenly awake as though she had not slept at all, and when she closed her eyes the image of Sovereign bearing down on Virmire charged her thoughts. They had almost lost the whole Citadel when he attacked, just to destroy him. How many would die to defeat a fleet?

This thought was cut short by the sight of a familiar face, and a not-so familiar one yet one she had come to know much better in the weeks as of late. Ashley Williams, and James Vega came out of the meeting room; one, stern and the very picture of Alliance Commander, the other smirking and finger-gunning at Shepard as she walked up to him.   
“Alright James, save some for the bedroom eh?” she said, grinning despite herself.   
“Ah you know me Lola, can't control myself around tough chicks like you!” she laughed and she swore Anderson's shoulders tensed at his words, but if he felt something he said nothing. Shepard now turned her attention to the beautiful, dark-haired woman who stood to attention opposite her.   
“At ease Ash, you don't have to salute me!” was all she said as she extended her hand in greeting. After a moment of hesitation Ash took her hand and grasped it firmly, in a shake, with a wry smile and a nod.   
“Sorry I've not been in touch Shepard” was all she said. Shepard waved a hand.  
“Ah, Ash, we've all been busy. Speaking of, I'll catch you later?” she nodded as she went to stand next to Anderson. She waved off her two human allies, and turned to her father-figure. Together, they stepped into the council office. 

Behind the council was a huge bay window that Shepard found herself staring out of while their words washed over her. This was supposed to be a disciplinary hearing and the first five minutes she tuned out their words, more interested in the outside world than in their scorn and ill-will. Anderson was defending her valiantly, she knew that, and she wanted to know why the base was abuzz and she was here being disciplined instead of reinstated. She was a soldier not a politician. She had rationalised her actions – and perhaps she shouldn't have – but it was necessary to put off the Reapers, and yet, she knew they were still coming. Behind the human council, the view of the human city was stunning. Skyscrapers and white paint, steel beams, and a picturesque lake along with trees and smaller conurbations and a steady stream of traffic flitting around, the picture-perfect postcard of an Earther colony. Picturesque, a testament to human engineering and society and a reminder of what Shepard was fighting for. Shepard found her thoughts interrupted by Anderson switching into a news channel and shouting. Her head snapped in his direction.  
“They already hit Luna base!” was the first utterance that penetrated Shepard's thoughts and she stood to attention, turning toward the screen. 

All she saw was a brief flick of carnage before the feed cut out to static, hectic bursts of screams and shouts and death and a full-frontal assault before it all blurred to a fog of static. Shepard turned her gaze again to the vista behind the committee and saw a black hand baring down on the city of Vancouver, grasping, reaching, a giant parasite come for them all. Her eyes widened, but she had no time to shout.

The explosions came quickly, sharply punching the air out of Shepard before she could even cry out – she pirouetted through the air; it would have been elegant had it not been violent and she hit the floor with several crunches. Already, the bruises formed a bouquet on her body, blooming flowers made of her skin. Anderson, crouched, crawled over to Shepard and offered his hand to her- she took it with a groan, rubbing the back of her neck.   
“Its the Reapers isn't it?” she said, and no sooner had the words come out of her mouth than a beam of red light – hot, vaporous, filling the horizon and her vision and her entire world for just a moment – cut through the building in front of them, spraying hot ash and rubble and setting alight the brickwork. The smell, sound, light, all of it was overwhelming and the sheer force staggered Shepard. She tried to focus on something other than the screams she could hear, and stared at Anderson who looked aghast but stern, the true picture of a soldier. She had seen the Reapers up close, spoken to them and all she felt was fear. Perhaps his ignorance was bliss. Anderson handed her a gun and ushered her through the break in the wall.   
“Shepard we're heading to the Normandy, we gotta get off this planet.” and as he spoke, another Reaper landed, kicking up clouds of buildings and rubble. The two of them were thrown off balance as a second explosion bit into the sky, lighting it up brighter than bright for a brief second then dulling to an orange glow. Fire, everywhere. Screams, rubble, dirt. So much destruction in so little time. 

They shouted conversation back and forth as they ran, shooting at Cannibals that erupted from pods that rained down from the sky and jumping from building to building. The air was filled with screams – both of Reapers and of humans -, the air thick with hot ash and rubble and dust, fires blazing and the echoes of what could have been the end of times.   
“Anderson how are we supposed to fight back against this?” she said, watching him as he slid and shot out two husks as he crouched up and shouldered cover, ushering her over beside him. She ran, rolled, back to the vent so that she could face him, then peeked up and shot out two husks herself, then stared back at Anderson waiting for a reply.   
“Shepard, you're a force of nature and a Council Spectre to boot. You must rally the council. Get them to send their biggest fleets.”  
A moment, she glanced out across the newly destroyed vista of Vancouver, and felt her heart flutter and wither. Already there were five – no six , she counted- Reapers grasping and crawling, uncanny and huge, across the surface of this city alone. Their screams, brief, drowned out the other ones, the human ones, she could hear. She closed her eyes tight, shut a moment. Composed herself.   
“How are we supposed to fight back against this, Anderson?” she whispered, hurriedly, her voice shaking as much with anger as resolution and fear. He looked away, didn't reply. She didn't know what she felt. In the air, an Alliance vessel exploded in a cacophony of splintered metal and clouds of fire, smoke, and a final, pointed explosion as the drive-core went. Just like that, fifty crewmen dead. A thousand years of collective knowledge and experiences snuffed out like nothing. Her heart lurched at that sight, at that thought, and she looked away again, jumping down a ladder after Anderson. 

Her fist connected with a husk as she charged up a biotic slam, pushing it over the edge of the building as she expelled the energy in her fist. She tried not to think that once, this had been human.   
“Shepard, this way!” he said, grabbing her and wheeling her around and pushing her into the side of a building, blasted out from the explosions that had hit without warning. The walls were bleached and shadows of people, snuffed out by the blast, were frozen in place on the building. Shepard traced her fingers across the brickwork. It was still warm. Anderson's hand once again came to her shoulder and squeezed gently, and she turned. Her hand went to his and she stroked his hand with a sad grimace.   
“Anderson, this might be a war we can't win” she whispered.   
“Shepard, you've been through hell. You're the only one who can lead us through this with any chance of survival.”   
“Anderson they never listened what's to say they still won't listen-” she began. He put a hand up.  
“They'll listen Shepard. They can't deny this. Come on, we gotta keep moving. The Normandy is in the docking bay.”  
“Is my crew aboard?”  
“The old Cerberus lot? No, Shepard. They were court marshaled soon as they touched down. Adams is back in engineering, though.” Shepard nodded. A new crew. A new bunch of lives to entrust to her. A new family to call her own a moment: but how long this time? Would any of them live to see the end of this damn war?

She mulled on this as she ran after Anderson. Ducking, rolling, crouching behind covers, shooting, shooting, shooting, punching. Going through the motions of a soldier. From this vantage point atop a building she could see the streets where Cannibals swarmed, feeding on the corpses of the dead and Husks ran and charged, without arms, legs, heads, unstoppable and unfeeling. She could see humans crouched behind makeshift barricades – cars, still smoking; chunks of building; biotic barriers – and shooting, firing back. Steady streams of laser-fire and grenade. She saw more than one human fall. Every death a full-stop that punctuated her chest. Adrenaline rushed through her body now. The pain she should have been feeling was muffled fog in the background, cotton at the back of her mouth, an elevated heartbeat that fluttered like a bird in a cage in her chest. 

Shepard continued running on instinct, behind Anderson, as they ran through this civilian warzone. 

And there, on the horizon, the Normandy barreled down on them, the port cargo hatch opening as it pulled up alongside her and Anderson. Inside she could already see Vega and Williams and as she made the jump, Vega launched forward to grab her and stop her from falling.   
“Easy Commander, I got you.” he said, patting her back. She looked up and out to Anderson who stood dark against the bright light of gunfire and explosions. He pulled at dog-tags around his neck and tossed them in Shepard's direction. She caught them deftly. Her dog-tags. He'd been wearing them all this time. The commander clenched her fist, then her jaw, then her eyes shut a moment.   
“Anderson, come on!” but he shook his head.   
“My place is here Shepard. I'm a soldier. I have to hold the line.” he shouted, above the scream of human, Reaper, and gunfire.   
“Stay alive Anderson” she shouted, as the Normandy closed its doors and pulled away. Not the goodbye she'd wanted to give him, nor the one he deserved. But war had a way of taking, and taking, and never giving. She knew this, he knew this. It was just how it was. 

The next few hours were a rush of reunions - Joker, EDI, Adams, Liara. There was so much to take in, so much grief to process -grief for earth, for the shuttles dropped by Reapers, grief for friends and the war to come, but Shepard got to feel none of it. In truth, she felt nothing but numb. But there was one thing, a word, Crucible, that caused hope to bloom in her heart. Hope that maybe, they could win this.


End file.
